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Published.  September,  1918 


PREFACE 

IT  is  often  held  to  be  a  sufficient  description  or  defini- 
tion of  language  to  speak  of  it  as  "a  medium  of  com- 
munication among  intelligent  beings."  Language  is 
that,  indeed,  and  can  never  be  less  than  that.  But 
that  is  its  lowest  office.  The  hen  calls  her  brood  by  a 
glad  cluck  to  a  fine  bit  of  grain,  or  warns  them  by  a 
terrifying  note  of  the  sweep  of  a  hawk.  But  she  has 
soon  gone  round  the  circle  of  ideas  appropriate  to  her 
species,  and  the  "medium  of  communication"  has  no 
place  in  the  realm  beyond,  where  for  her  and  hers  there 
is  nothing  to  communicate.  In  all  human  beings,  how- 
ever, except  the  most  degraded,  there  is  a  demand  for 
communication  of  thought  and  feeling  from  one  to  an- 
other beyond  what  language  as  used  by  them  can  yet 
convey.  With  all  mental  advance  the  reach  and  range 
and  delicacy  of  thought  and  feeling  evermore  outstrip 
the  capacity  of  words  to  utter  them.  Language  is  under 
a  constant  impulsion  to  express  ideas  and  emotions 
which  are  still  beyond  its  power. 

It  is  true  that  a  decaying  civilization  may  shrivel  up, 
as  it  were,  within  a  language,  until  it  has  no  use  for 
many  words  and  phrases  which  were  full  of  meaning 
to  men  of  a  nobler  day.  Such  a  language  is  in  process 
of  becoming  a  ' '  dead  language, ' '  as  the  Greek  and  Latin 
were  becoming  in  Europe  five  centuries  ago.  Then,  if 
the  civilization  is  really  alive,  new  languages  will  arise 
to  express  the  thought  and  feeling  of  the  new  time, 
as  the  languages  of  modern  Europe  arose  when  hu- 

v 


2O7181O 


vi  PREFACE 

manity  awakened  out  of  the  night  of  the  Middle  Ages. 
How  vast  and  wonderful  were  the  needs  for  which  these 
new  languages  had  to  provide  expression!  The  in- 
vention of  gunpowder,  changing  the  whole  art  of  war; 
the  mariner's  compass,  opening  sure  ways  across  the 
pathless  seas;  the  Copernican  system  of  astronomy,  giv- 
ing the  world  and  man  for  the  first  time  their  true 
place  in  the  celestial  spaces;  the  science  of  chemistry 
in  place  of  the  superstitions  of  alchemy;  steam  and 
gas,  electricity  and  magnetism,  the  printing-press,  the 
railroad,  the  steamship,  the  telegraph,  the  telephone, 
photography,  wireless  telegraphy,  and  now  aviation: — 
all  these,  as  arts  and  processes  of  modern  life,  have 
driven  every  vigorous  modern  language  into  a  chase 
for  words  and  phrases  expressive  enough  to  keep  up 
with  the  crowding  thought  and  imagery  of  the  life 
actually  about  us,  and  beyond  the  direct  communication 
of  ascertained  facts  able  to  utter  the  constantly  deepen- 
ing and  broadening  visions  and  longings  of  the  expand- 
ing human  soul.  To  urge  the  expressiveness  of  language 
is  to  exalt  the  supremacy  of  thought.  The  language 
which  is  chiefly  occupied  with  its  own  beauties  is  dying 
or  dead;  the  language  struggling  to  utter  what  is  still 
beyond  itself  is  alive,  and  none  has  more  of  this  ex- 
pansive vigor  than  our  own. 

English  was  a  young,  rude  dialect  when  Latin  was 
old  and  in  ornamental  decay;  and  the  circumstances  of 
the  development  of  the  new  aspirant  for  power  have 
never  permitted  it  to  evolve  like  a  potato-sprout  in  a 
cellar,  white,  protracted,  and  delicate.  By  the  exigen- 
cies of  its  existence  it  has  been  thrashed  into  sturdiness 
and  vigor  through  centuries  of  conflict.  Ever  and  ever- 
more the  concentrated  energy  of  expression  of  human 
thought  and  feeling  has  been  thrust  upon  and  through 


PEEFACE  vii 

and  through  the  language  as  the  essential  condition  of 
its  existence. 

Foremost  in  colonization,  at  the  front  in  industrial 
and  commercial  achievement,  possessed  by  that  impulse 
of  actual  doing  in  the  concrete  world  which  we  call 
"practical,"  full  of  the  enthusiasm  of  freedom  for  each 
individual  life,  and  yet  with  that  power  of  combination 
that  can  cement  millions  scattered  far  over  land  and 
sea  into  the  cohesion  of  an  empire  or  a  world-republic, 
spoken  by  more  human  beings  than  any  other  tongue 
now  or  in  ages  past  existing  among  men,  the  number 
of  persons  using  it  being  credibly  estimated  at  one 
hundred  and  fifty  millions,  the  English  language  must 
beyond  all  others  seek  and  attain  fulness  of  expression. 
It  presses  close  up  to  the  foremost  line  of  the  world's 
advance,  to  be  ever  ready  with  a  new  word  or  phrase 
for  every  new  thought,  discovery,  invention,  or  achieve- 
ment. Voices  from  every  range  of  human  endeavor  and 
every  outreach  of  human  intellect  are  calling  the  lan- 
guage on  to  express — express — express,  ever  more  com- 
prehensively and  minutely  all  the  shades  and  lines  of 
thought  and  feeling,  now  plain  and  direct  as  a  concrete 
highway,  now  toilsomely  ascending  as  a  mountain  path, 
or  yet  again  diversified  with  flower  and  shrub  and  rock 
and  light  and  shade  and  sudden  windings  as  a  wood- 
land road.  Its  ideal  of  utterance  has  come  to  be,  not 
method,  measure,  melody,  but  meaning.  "Fine  writ- 
ing," once  the  ideal  of  many  young  writers,  is  now 
disesteemed.  The  best  speaking  or  writing  of  English 
will  be  done  always  by  asking  "What  do  I  really  mean 
to  say?"  or  "What  do  I  most  deeply  want  to  say?" — 
in  other  phrase,  "What  for  my  purpose  can  words  now 
and  here  best  express?" 

The  present  author  has  long  believed  that  much  thor- 


viii  PREFACE 

oughly  correct  English  instruction  fails  by  not  keeping 
in  view  the  higher  possibilities  of  language,  and  by  not 
awakening  admiration,  honor,  and  love  for  the  English 
language  as  a  great,  beneficent,  and  living  power.  If 
students  can  be  made  to  feel  from  the  start  that  Eng- 
lish is  a  grand,  noble,  and  mighty  means  for  the  ex- 
pression of  thought,  whether  the  simplest  and  plainest 
or  the  highest  and  most  beautiful,  they  will  feel  a  call 
to  attain  its  mastery  and  a  joy  in  bringing  out  its 
possibilities.  Hence,  in  this  work,  the  earnest  endeavor 
has  been  to  awaken  interest,  and  even  enthusiasm,  for 
the  language  from  the  outset.  For,  what  interests  peo- 
ple they  will  learn,  and  learn  readily.  In  a  word,  it 
has  been  believed  that  the  rhetorical  treatment  of  Eng- 
lish speech  may  be  made  an  attractive  and  an  easy 
study,  often  fascinating  as  one  follows  its  rich  possi- 
bilities of  expression. 

The  aim  has  been,  as  far  as  possible,  to  give  princi- 
ples rather  than  precepts.  Comparatively  little  is 
learned  by  a  series  of  commandments.  The  most  ex- 
cellent rules  by  themselves  carry  students  but  a  little 
way.  But  a  principle  is  living  and  of  indefinite  riches 
of  application.  Ideal  is  worth  more  than  pattern.  The 
precept  settles  one  case;  the  principle  is  good  for  a 
thousand. 

It  has  also  been  believed  that  the  rhetorical  use  of 
English  may  be  taught  in  English.  The  Greek  masters 
of  rhetoric  so  impressed  their  personality  and  their 
methods  upon  all  students  that  the  very  Greek  words 
they  used  have  been  maintained  for  centuries  with  a 
reverent  fear  that  the  contents  would  be  lost  if  the  re- 
ceptacle were  changed.  Then  the  old  schoolmen  clung 
to  the  foreign  phrases  as  making  rhetoric  an  "art  and 
mystery,"  which  only  the  elect  few  could  understand. 


PREFACE  ix 

So  our  books  still  carry  aposiopesis,  prosopopeia,  sy- 
necdoche, and  zeugma,  and  similar  scare-words,  which 
even  those  who  have  once  learned  them  in  school  are 
afraid  to  venture  upon  unprepared  in  later  life.  A 
few  technical  terms  have  been  so  far  modernized  that 
we  do  well  to  retain  them,  as  synonym,  simile,  metaphor, 
etc.  But  the  unfamiliar  ones,  if  they  mean  anything, 
can  be  translated  into  English  words,  and  if  not,  can 
be  dropped.  The  plain  English  term  has  here  been 
always  preferred.  Even  difficult  matters  have  been 
made  to  seem  simple  and  easy  where  possible  by  simple 
explanations  and  the  use  of  simple  words.  A  seemingly 
off-hand  statement  has  been  put  in  place  of  a  scholastic 
utterance  in  the  belief  that  people  learn  best  when  they 
are  not  scared; — when  the  matter  considered  is  pre- 
sented, not  as  the  rare  attainment  of  a  few  erudite 
scholars,  but  as  something  "on  the  level,"  in  which  the 
multitude,  they  themselves,  starting  where  they  are, 
and  as  they  are,  may  expect  to  attain  success. 

With  the  same  object  in  view  it  has  been  found 
necessary  to  set  a  limit  to  the  number  of  topics  treated. 
The  "elements  of  rhetoric"  are  so  numerous  that  any 
attempt  to  cover  them  all  in  a  book  of  moderate  size 
reduces  them  to  little  more  than  an  inventory  or  cata- 
logue. Such  an  inventory  may  be  very  useful,  as  a 
dictionary  is,  for  definition  and  for  reference,  but  it 
is  not  very  readable.  By  its  condensation  all  the  ele- 
ments of  rhetoric  are  placed  practically  upon  a  level, 
with  no  chance  for  variety  or  emphasis  or  play  of 
thought  and  fancy — that  is,  with  no  chance  for  the 
very  things  the  book  is  to  teach — so  that  a  treatise  on 
rhetoric  is  often  the  driest  and  most  unreadable  thing 
that  one  can  take  up.  In  place  of  such  crowding,  it 
has  seemed  better  to  treat  quite  fully  certain  main  ele- 


x  PREFACE 

ments  of  the  study,  opening  vistas,  at  certain  points, 
with  confidence  that  the  student  will  almost  instinctively 
apply  the  method,  thus  found  interesting  and  helpful, 
to  other  branches  of  the  great  study.  He  will  not 
know  all  of  rhetoric,  but  what  he  knows,  he  will  know. 
This  method  of  treatment  has  succeeded  in  actual 
trial.  These  chapters  were  lectures  given  for  a  series 
of  years  to  a  class  of  about  fifty  students  in  the  Young 
Men's  Christian  Association  of  Washington,  D.  C.,  and 
also  to  a  class  of  public  school  teachers  assembled  under 
the  same  auspices.  The  young  men  were  clerks,  stenog- 
raphers, secretaries  of  senators,  members  of  the  staffs 
of  various  Washington  papers,  etc.  They  represented 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  bright  young  Americans  who 
having  learned  enough  to  know  that  they  should  know 
more,  but  being  engaged  in  the  rush  of  life  to  make  their 
way  and  their  subsistence,  were  limited  to  such  knowl- 
edge as  could  be  rapidly  gained.  It  was  the  impor- 
tunity of  these  students,  their  delight  in  the  course,  and 
their  assurance  of  its  practical  helpfulness  that  first 
moved  the  author  to  publish  the  series.  The  familiar 
personal  tone  of  the  class-room  lecture  has  been  to  a 
considerable  degree  retained,  and  the  student  seeking  to 
make  his  way  in  studying  by  himself  has  been  remem- 
bered with  interest  and  sympathy,  and  numerous  simple 
directions  given  for  his  benefit,  as  throughout  chapters 
VI,  IX,  XVIII,  and  XIX,  and  on  pages  96,  104-107,  117, 
120,  159,  174,  220-221,  257-258,  295,  315,  337,  340,  352, 
372-3-4,  and  numerous  others.  Whether  studied  in 
the  class  or  individually,  it  is  believed  the  book  will  be 
found  readable  and  helpful  for  the  mastery  of  impor- 
tant points  of  English  style.  J.  C.  F. 

Montclair,  N.  J.,  June  6,  1918. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAOE 

I.  THE  SIMPLICITY  OF  ENGLISH 1 

II.  THE  POWER  OF  ENGLISH 24 

III.  THE  ENGLISH  TBEASUBY  OF  WORDS 63 

IV.  A  WORLD-LITERATURE  IN  ENGLISH 79 

V.  ENGLISH  SYNONYMS — THEIR  ABUNDANCE  AND  HELP- 
FULNESS     98 

VI.  THE  ENGLISH  DICTIONARY  AND  How  TO  USE  IT    .  121 

VII.  ENGLISH  CONNECTIVES — THE  LINKS  OF  STYLE  .     .     .  145 

VIII.  ENGLISH  GRAMMAR — THE  FRAME  OF  STYLE     .     .     .179 

IX.  THE   ENLARGEMENT   AND   IMPROVEMENT   OF   THE 

VOCABULARY 209 

X.  THE  IMPOVERISHMENT  OF  THE  VOCABULARY.     CANT, 

SLANG,  ETC 238 

XI.  DIFFICULTIES  IN  ENGLISH — THE  WAY  OUT   .     .     .  254 

XII.  CLEARNESS  OF  STYLE 267 

I.  The  Outfit  for  the  Speaker  or  Writer. 

XIII.  CLEARNESS  OF  STYLE 284 

II.  As  Secured  by  Fitting  Choice  of  Words. 

XIV.  CLEARNESS  OF  STYLE 308 

III.  By  Mastery  of  Sentence-Construction. 

XV.  CLEARNESS  OF  STYLE 331 

IV.  By  Items  of  Construction. 

XVI.  THE  ART  OF  BREVITY 351 

XVII.  FIGURES  OF  SPEECH 365 

XVIII.  INVENTIVE  ART  IN  SPEAKING  AND  WRITING  .     .     .  399 

XIX.  CONSTRUCTIVE  LITERARY  WORK 433 

XX.  LIFE  THE  SUPREME  ACHIEVEMENT  .......  457 

xi 


CHAPTER   I 

THE   SIMPLICITY   OF   ENGLISH 

Excellence  in  English  is  often  sought  too  far  afield. 
The  trouble  with  many  English  grammarians  and  rhe- 
toricians has  been  that  they  have  known  too  much.  By 
the  time  a  man  has  mastered  the  hundreds  of  parts  of 
the  Latin  and  the  Greek  verb  and  the  Hiphil,  Hophal, 
and  Hithpael  of  the  Hebrew;  when  he  knows  the  five 
declensions  of  Latin  and  the  three  of  Greek  nouns, 
and  the  various  declensions  of  adjectives  to  suit  all 
those  nouns;  when  he  has  labored  through  the  Slough 
of  Despond  of  German  genders,  and  added  a  light  fringe 
of  French,  Spanish,  and  Italian  eccentricities,  he  is  apt 
to  become  an  incarnate  inflection.  He  feels  that  lan- 
guage exists  in  order  to  be  inflected.  That  is  what  it 
is  for.  It  is  beautiful  and  rich  according  as  it  can  be 
tabulated  in  paradigms  under  the  law  of  permutations. 
If  he  is  a  teacher,  the  possibilities  of  browbeating  and 
sidetracking  pupils,  and  of  enticing  them  into  laby- 
rinths where  he  alone  holds  the  thread,  become  so  allur- 
ing and  soul-satisfying  that  he  looks  upon  all  that  is 
self-evident  and  straightforward  with  the  scorn  of  an 
expert  in  mysteries  and  occult  arts. 

When  there  are  no  more  dead  or  otherwise  foreign 
languages  to  conquer,  he  sweeps  his  glance  over  the 
unfortunate  English  speech  and  sees  it  destitute  and 
denuded  of  all  its  beloved  intricacy — only  here  and  there 
some  remnant  of  old  declension  or  conjugation  standing 

1 


2  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

separate  and  lonely,  like  surviving  stumps  after  a  forest 
fire.  His  grammatical  soul  aches  over  the  "lost  in- 
flections," and  he  puts  on  sackcloth  and  ashes  for  the 
"poverty"  of  his  native  tongue.  English  simplicity 
has  become  the  "wailing  place"  of  grammatical  exiles. 

In  this  strange  language,  which  simply  adds  one  word 
to  another  and  depends  on  having  every  word  in  its 
natural  place,  it  is  no  longer  possible  to  bury  the  subject 
in  a  mass  of  vocables  and  extricate  it  by  the  sure  token 
that  it  is  the  only  noun  in  the  sentence  which  is  not 
in  the  genitive,  dative,  accusative,  vocative,  or  ablative 
case,  and  must,  therefore,  be  the  Jong-lost  subject;  or 
to  put  the  adjective  at  one  end  of  the  sentence  and  the 
noun  at  the  other,  and  have  them  respond  to  each  other 
like  the  poles  of  an  electric  battery,  however  many 
miles  of  insulated  wire  the  current  may  have  to  pass 
through  between  them. 

If  compelled  to  express  himself  in  this  absurdly  simple 
speech,  he  finds  unexpected  difficulties  for  want  of  the 
linguistic  stays  and  trusses  on  which  his  foreign  models 
have  accustomed  him  to  depend,  and  suffers  the  fate 
of  the  cab-horse  in  "Pickwick"  that  "would  fall  down 
as  soon  as  he  was  took  out  of  harness."  He  writes 
sentences  like  the  card  which  a  Greek  professor  is  said 
to  have  put  on  the  door  of  a  college  chapel  at  Oxford, 
"Chapel  will  commence  tomorrow  morning  at  nine 
o'clock,  and  continue  until  further  notice."  He  dis- 
covers— or,  at  least,  his  readers  or  hearers  discover — 
that  the  seeming  ease  of  English  expression  is  a  fine 
art,  which  no  one  may  hope  to  attain  by  laboriously 
learning  "how  not  to  do  it."  He  longs  to  recast  the 
language,  and  run  it  into  traditional  molds,  from  which 
it  should  come  forth  with  cogs  and  cams  and  dovetails 
to  be  interlocked  with  mathematical  precision. 


For  some  centuries  the  mechanics  of  language  labored 
hard  to  import  into  English  exotic  complications,  espe- 
cially adaptations  of  Latin  rules  and  idioms.  But  those 
importations  did  not  thrive  in  the  rigorous  English 
climate,  where  the  winds  of  common  sense  are  so  very 
free  and  strong ;  and  there  is  now  a  prevalent  disposition 
to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  bargain,  holding  that  as  we  are 
saddled  with  a  language  that  knows  no  better  than  to 
say  outright  what  it  has  to  say,  we  must  try  to  get  some 
approximate  order  into  this  makeshift  speech,  giving 
attractive  glimpses  here  and  there  of  the  beautiful  in- 
flected languages,  ancient  and  modern,  which  the  pupil 
may  hope  to  learn  in  the  happier  days  to  come,  and  the 
learning  of  which  is  the  chief  use  of  the  formless  English 
speech. 

Hence,  English  grammar  has  been  largely  apologetic, 
its  keynote  being  that  we  express  ourselves  in  this  or 
that  way  because  we  can  do  no  better,  and  that  such 
a  method  is  the  best  means  of  handling  these  loose 
threads  of  language,  which  have  never  been  properly 
wound  upon  the  bobbin  of  inflection.  Richard  Grant 
White  proposed  to  cut  the  Gordian  knot  by  treating 
English  as  ' '  The  Grammarless  Tongue. ' '  But  his  system 
did  not  prevail  because  it  was  not  a  system.  The  stub- 
born subconsciousness  of  the  English-speaking  world 
knows  that  there  is  a  grammatical  system  in  our  lan- 
guage, if  it  can  only  be  exhumed  from  under  the  ex- 
planations in  which  it  has  been  buried. 

The  key  of  this  system  is  simplicity — always  the  most 
elusive  thing  in  any  line  of  research.  Scholarship  can 
discover  everything  except  the  obvious.  The  simplicity 
of  English,  which  has  been  the  torment  of  learned  re- 
search, is  the  triumph  and  glory  of  the  existing  speech. 
The  simplification  of  English  speech  was  at  first  a  dis- 


4  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

covery  of  happy  accident,  and  then  wrought  out  of  set 
purpose  through  centuries  of  struggle  and  conflict. 

The  founders  of  our  English  were  a  new  people.  In 
the  fifth  century  of  the  Christian  era,  when  the  Roman 
Empire,  which  had  stamped  on  the  whole  known  world 
the  seal  of  antiquity  and  imperialism,  was  tottering  to 
its  well-deserved  fall,  certain  wild  tribes,  steadily  driven 
northward  before  the  Roman  power,  but  never  bowing 
to  its  dominion,  had  reached  the  bleak  and  barren  shores 
of  the  North  Sea.  History  calls  them  Jutes,  Angles, 
and  Saxons.  As  the  land  behind  was  closed  to  them, 
they  took  to  the  sea,  and  became  the  most  daring  of 
mariners  and  pirates.  Not  a  shore  but  trembled  when 
the  horizon  line  was  broken  by  their  long  black  galleys 
filled  with  reckless  freebooters  who  feared  neither  wave, 
nor  storm,  nor  sword.  When  they  found  Britain  de- 
fenceless, they  descended  upon  it,  exterminated  or  swept 
away  the  inhabitants  and  wiped  every  vestige  of  Roman 
civilization  off  the  face  of  the  land,  except  the  Roman 
roads  embedded  in  the  soil.  They  started  their  world 
anew,  and  cut  history  in  two  with  the  sword.  British 
history  ends,  and  English  history  begins,  with  the 
Anglo-Saxon  invasion  in  449  A.D. 

These  Anglo-Saxon  conquerors  of  Britain  had  no  past. 
All  the  storied  centuries,  from  civilization's  far  begin- 
nings,— the  marvels  of  sculptured  Egypt,  all  the  record 
of  Babylon  and  Nineveh  and  Tyre,  of  Greece  and  Rome, 
were  to  them  a  blank.  They  knew  no  more  of  antiquity 
than  if  they  had  just  come  into  being  on  a  newly  created 
planet.  There  they  were.  There  was  the  sea  which 
they  knew  how  to  tame  and  to  traverse.  There  was  the 
subjugated  land  under  their  feet.  Their  language  was 
like  themselves.  It  was  nothing  to  them  how  other  men 
had  spoken.  How  could  they  best  utter  what  they  had 


THE    SIMPLICITY    OF    ENGLISH  5 

to  say?  They  had  nothing  to  learn  from  the  Britons 
whom  they  conquered  on  every  battle-field,  nor  from 
once  imperial  Rome,  that  now  could  not  send  one  legion 
to  dispute  their  dominion. 

There  were  differences  of  dialect  among  these  Jutes, 
Angles  and  Saxons,  but  when  all  were  shut  up  together 
in  the  conquered  island,  in  order  to  live,  trade,  or  even 
fight  together,  they  were  compelled  to  learn  one  another 's 
speech.  In  so  doing,  they  stumbled,  all  unknowingly, 
upon  a  great  law  of  language,  that  when  different  lan- 
guages of  kindred  stock  meet  and  coalesce  in  the  same 
territory,  the  effect  is  to  drop  inflections ;  root-words  are 
retained,  but  case-endings,  niceties  of  conjugation  and 
other  mere  refinements  and  complications  are  discarded. 
Thus,  as  the  invaders  became  fused  into  one  people  in 
England,  their  different  dialects  were  blended  in  a  modi- 
fied language  of  increased  simplicity.  Scarcely  was  their 
conquest  completed  and  their  unity  secured,  ere  the  fame 
of  their  prosperity  attracted  new  swarms  of  Northmen 
from  Scandinavian  and  Danish  shores — all  indiscrim- 
inately called  Danes — who  conquered  wide  districts,  and 
even,  for  a  time,  put  on  the  throne  of  England  a  line 
of  Danish  kings.  The  whole  process  of  fusion  of  lan- 
guages had  to  be  done  over  again,  and  the  speech  of  the 
new  invaders  was  blended  with  the  Anglo-Saxon,  still 
in  the  line  of  simplicity,  dropping  what  was  complicated, 
and  retaining  what  was  easy  to  learn,  while  broadening 
the  base  of  the  language  by  the  infusion  of  new  elements. 
Then,  upon  the  mingled  peoples  fell  the  mailed  hand  of 
the  Norman,  crushing  them  closer  together,  while  for 
three  hundred  years  the  Normans  occupied  themselves 
in  a  vain  endeavor  to  make  Englishmen  talk  French,  till 
at  last  it  occurred  to  them  that  it  would  be  easier  for 
themselves  to  learn  English. 


6  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

But  in  the  long  contest  the  Saxons  had  absorbed  much 
from  the  French,  still  simplifying  what  they  appropri- 
ated. They  fell  upon  the  French  language,  so  far  as  they 
condescended  to  adopt  it,  as  the  Norman  invaders  had 
fallen  upon  their  own  island.  Every  French  word,  in 
order  to  be  naturalized,  had  to  pass  under  the  English 
yoke,  and  no  French  word  that  has  been  through  that 
process  is  ever  recognized  by  the  natives  when  it  goes 
back  home.  On  the  fine  inflections  of  French  grammar 
the  Englishman  set  his  stubborn  heel.  He  would  use 
the  French  word  if  he  must,  but  upon  it  he  would  play 
no  foreign  variations.  Still  less,  if  possible,  would  the 
Norman  conquerors  bother  with  what  they  deemed  the 
barbarous  intricacies  of  the  Anglo-Saxon,  and  those 
were  dropped  by  mutual  consent.  Thus  a  composite 
language  was  evolved,  simpler  than  either  of  its  proto- 
types. 

The  fierce,  and  often  apparently  aimless  contests  of 
centuries  blend  in  one  great  unity.  From  the  landing 
of  Hengist  to  the  death  of  Chaucer — almost  a  thousand 
years — the  process  is  one,  the  fusion  of  competing  lan- 
guages, always  in  the  direction  of  simplicity,  always  re- 
jecting complications  of  structure,  always  choosing  the 
simpler  forms.  Simplification  of  speech  had  now  come 
to  seem  natural  to  the  Englishman.  It  had  been  from 
time  immemorial  an  inherent  process  of  language  as  he 
knew  it.  He  had  proved  this  simplicity  to  be  consistent 
with  clearness,  and  his  practical  good  sense  recognized 
that  simplicity  is  power.  Then  he  bent  all  his  inventive 
skill  to  secure  for  his  language  the  fulness  of  this  in- 
herent power.  He  carried  simplification  constantly 
further  of  set  and  earnest  purpose.  Whenever  he  found 
a  form  still  lingering  that  was  troublesome,  he  weeded 
it  out.  All  the  tripping  terminations  that  make  so  much 


THE    SIMPLICITY   OF    ENGLISH  7 

of  the  music  of  Chaucer's  poetry  went  by  the  board. 
There  should  never  be  two  syllables  where  one  would  do. 
The  short,  simple  words  are  the  most  effective  on  the 
seay  in  the  market,  in  the  camp  and  on  the  battle-field, — 
come,  go,  hark,  hear,  march,  charge,  halt!  Any  added 
syllable  would  weaken  those  terms  of  concentrated  force. 
In  grammar  every  inflection  must  show  a  reason  for  its 
existence,  or  cease  to  exist.  Whatever  was  difficult  and 
complicated  must  go,  unless  the  proof  of  its  utility  was 
stronger  than  the  presumption  against  its  difficulty. 

The  reason  commonly  given  for  the  substitution  of  the 
second  person  plural  for  the  second  person  singular — 
"you"  instead  of  "thou" — that  it  originated  as  a  fad  of 
courtesy, — may  explain  its  origin,  but  its  universal  adop- 
tion is  due  to  a  deeper  reason,  namely,  that  the  second 
person  singular  of  the  English  verb  is  a  complicated 
and  difficult  form,  while  the  second  person  plural  is 
simple  to  the  last  degree.  With  every  principal  verb 
in  the  language,  and  with  every  auxiliary  except 
"must",  the  pronoun  "thou"  requires  a  special  change 
in  the  form  of  the  verb,  which  is  often  the  only  break 
in  an  otherwise  uniform  series.  Thus,  in  the  present 
tense  of  every  verb,  with  the  single  exception  of  the 
verb  "be",  the  pronoun  "you"  employs  the  unchanged 
root-form  of  the  verb,  as  ' '  YOU  love,  have,  can,  do,  shall, 
will,"  etc.,  while  "thou"  requires  a  change  of  form,  as 
"THOU  lovest,  hast,  canst,  dost,  shalt,  wilt,"  etc.  In 
every  such  choice  the  unchanged  root-form  has  always  the 
right  of  way.  Again,  with  every  pronoun  but  "thou" — 
still  excepting  the  one  verb  "be" — the  past  tense  of 
every  verb  is  absolutely  uniform,  as  "7,  he,  we,  you, 
they,  loved,  had,  could,  did,  should,  would,"  but  with 
"thou"  we  are  driven  to  say  "thou  lovedst,  hadst, 
couldst,  didst,  shouldst,  wouldst,"  etc.  Moreover,  some 


8  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

of  these  forms  are  uneuphonic  and  exceedingly  difficult 
to  utter,  requiring  careful  drill  and  momentary  pause 
to  shape  the  vocal  organs  for  the  utterance,  as  in  couldst, 
shouldst,  mightst,  commandedst,  interpretedst.  Having 
thus  two  forms,  one  of  which  is  almost  invariably  com- 
plicated and  difficult,  while  the  other  is,  with  a  single 
exception,  simple  and  easy,  the  English-speaking  men 
trampled  on  the  rules  of  grammar,  bidding  defiance  to 
the  distinction  of  singular  and  plural,  in  order  to  make 
the  simple  form  controlling  and  universal.  Thus  "you" 
has  become  everywhere  current  in  the  busy  activities  of 
life,  while  ' '  thou ' '  is  carefully  laid  up  in  the  museum  of 
antiquity  or  the  shrine  of  religion. 

How  far  this  process  of  simplification  has  reached  may 
be  seen  by  comparing  English  at  certain  points  with 
various  other  languages.  Consider  first  the  noun.  The 
Greek  noun  has  three  declensions  with  five  cases  and 
three  numbers,  the  singular,  the  dual,  and  the  plural. 
That  is,  there  are  twelve  forms  in  which  any  noun  may 
appear,  according  to  the  special  relation  to  be  expressed. 
Which  twelve  any  particular  noun  may  take  can  only 
be  known  by  knowing  to  which  of  the  three  declensions  it 
belongs,  so  that  it  is  really  necessary  to  know  thirty-six 
forms  of  the  Greek  noun  in  order  to  use  any  one  noun 
properly.  The  Latin  noun  has  five  declensions  and  two 
numbers,  singular  and  plural,  with  six  cases  in  each 
number,  making  sixty  forms,  among  which  it  is  neces- 
sary to  choose  in  order  to  use  any  one  noun  properly. 
The  English  noun  is  not  troubled  with  declensions. 
While  it  has  technically  three  cases,  two  of  them, 
the  nominative  and  the  objective,  are  precisely  alike; 
the  possessive  adds  the  apostrophe  with  s  in  the  singu- 
lar and  without  s  in  the  plural.  The  regular  plural 
form  adds  s  or  es  to  the  singular,  with  a  small  list 


of  practically  eight  irregular  plurals,  as  mice  and  men, 
and  a  few  foreign  plurals  like  strata  and  memoranda. 

But  the  crowning  triumph  of  English  is  to  be  found  in 
the  simplicity  of  grammatical  gender — that  is,  gender  of 
Avords  as  words,  irrespective  of  sex  in  the  objects  they 
represent.  All  the  other  leading  languages  give  mascu- 
line or  feminine  gender  to  names  of  objects  with  which 
no  thought  of  sex  can  be  rationally  associated,  as  moun- 
tains, rivers,  trees,  clothes,  tools,  articles  of  furniture, 
members  of  the  human  or  animal  body,  etc.  Some  of 
these  languages,  as  the  French,  Italian,  and  Spanish, 
have  no  neuter  gender,  so  that  every  inanimate  object 
must  be  represented  by  a  masculine  or  feminine  noun. 
Hence  we  often  have  a  quiet  smile  when  the  Frenchman 
or  Italian  in  his  early  experiments  with  English,  speaks 
of  the  chair  or  table  as  ' '  she ' '.  In  languages  like  Greek, 
Latin,  and  German,  which  have  a  neuter  gender,  that 
gender  is  sometimes  so  capriciously  applied  that  a  neuter 
noun  may  be  used  for  a  living  being  which  must  have 
sex,  as  the  German  nouns  madchen,  ' '  maiden, ' '  and  weib, 
t '  wife, "  ' '  woman, ' '  are  neuter.  Ingenious  theories  have 
been  advanced  as  to  the  giving  of  gender  to  inanimate 
objects  on  account  of  fauns,  dryads,  and  other  divinities, 
more  or  less  divine,  which  were  originally  supposed  to 
preside  over  some  of  them;  but  the  elusive  gender  far 
outruns  the  theory.  Why,  for  instance,  should  a  man's 
head  be  feminine  in  Greek,  neuter  in  Latin,  feminine  in 
French,  masculine  in  German,  and  feminine  again  in 
Italian?  The  unpoetical  fact  seems  to  be  that  all  this 
is  due  to  a  certain  stupidity  of  generalization.  Men  of 
the  early  day  seem  to  have  concluded  that  because  some 
nouns  naturally  have  gender,  therefore  gender  was  an 
inevitable  property  of  the  noun  per  se,  and  they  inflicted 
it  accordingly,  without  reason  or  discrimination,  upon 


10 

every  unfortunate  noun  that  came  in  their  way.  Then, 
as  languages  were  artificially  perfected,  nouns  were  made 
masculine,  feminine  or  neuter  according  to  classification 
or  termination  without  the  slightest  reference  to  nature. 

Here  English  made  an  entirely  new  departure,  so  that 
gender,  as  far  as  it  is  indicated  in  our  language,  usually 
follows  the  meaning  of  the  noun  to  which  it  is  ap- 
plied. "English  stands  entirely  alone  in  making  gen- 
der a  rational  and  intelligible  distinction;  males  are 
masculine,  females  are  feminine,  and  inanimate  things 
neuter. ' '  * 

The  distinctiveness  of  English  in  this  respect  is  strik- 
ingly illustrated  by  a  comparison  of  dictionaries.  Take 
a  Greek,  Latin,  German,  French,  or  Italian  dictionary, 
and  look  down  its  columns;  after  every  noun  you  will 
find  a  little  letter,  m,  f,  or  n,  as  the  case  may  be,  de- 
noting the  noun  as  masculine,  feminine,  or  neuter.  The 
gender  must  be  expressly  noted,  because  it  is  arbitrary, 
and  by  no  means  surely  indicated  by  the  meaning  of 
the  word.  Now  look  down  the  columns  of  an  English 
dictionary,  noticing  the  nouns,  and  you  will  not  find 
one  m,  f,  or  n.  In  English  alone  the  gender  is  un- 
noted, because  the  meaning  of  the  word  usually  tells  it 
all,  and  no  further  specification  is  required.  If  the  noun 
denotes  a  male  being,  it  must,  of  course,  be  masculine; 
if  a  female  being,  feminine;  if  an  inanimate  object, 
neuter.  Hence  the  English  dictionary  alone  dispenses 
— and  alone  can  dispense — with  notification  of  gender. 

That  poetic  personification  which  sometimes  refers  to 
the  sun  as  masculine  or  to  the  moon  as  feminine,  or  the 
sailor's  reference  to  his  ship  as  "she,"  constitutes  no 
real  exception  to  the  rule,  for  in  plain  prose  we  say  of  the 
sun  or  the  moon  "its  distance,"  "its  diameter,"  or  the 


*  Ramsey:    "The  English   Language  and  English   Grammar," 
231. 


THE    SIMPLICITY   OF   ENGLISH  11 

like,  and  we  read  in  the  Authorized  Version  of  the  Scrip- 
tures, ' '  The  waves  beat  into  the  ship,  so  that  it  was  now 
full."  It  is  an  inestimable  advantage  in  our  language 
that  all  the  innumerable  nouns  denoting  inanimate 
objects  are  regularly  of  the  neuter  gender,  as  by  laws 
of  thought  they  ought  to  be.  That  which  is  soulless  in 
nature  is  naturally  neuter  in  language. 

But,  not  satisfied  with  even  this  sweeping  generaliza- 
tion, the  English  language  takes  a  long  step  farther,  and 
leaves  the  great  majority  of  nouns  denoting  living  beings 
utterly  indeterminate  in  gender.  No  one  can  tell  by  the 
word  itself  whether  friend,  neighbor,  companion,  animal, 
quadruped,  fish,  or  bird  is  masculine  or  feminine.  A 
monarch,  a  sovereign,  a  citizen  or  a  subject  may  be  a  man 
or  a  woman ;  so  may  a  writer,  an  author,  or  an  editor,  an 
agent  or  an  attorney,  an  artist,  a  sculptor  or  a  musician, 
a  teacher  or  an  instructor,  a  guest  or  a  visitor,  a  relative 
or  a  stranger,  an  enemy  or  a  foe;  nor  does  the  word  we 
use  indicate  the  sex  of  parent,  babe,  baby,  child,  ancestor 
or  descendant.  We  know  that  these  words  are  not  neuter 
because  they  do  not  denote  inanimate  objects,  and  that 
is  all  we  do  know  about  them,  as  regards  gender. 

Thus  we  have  a  multitude  of  such  familiar  nouns  as 
acquaintance,  advocate,  amanuensis,  assailant,  assistant, 
associate,  attorney,  citizen,  clerk,  companion,  comrade, 
cousin,  enemy,  foe,  friend,  historian,  interpreter,  lunatic, 
maniac,  martyr,  monarch,  nurse,  opponent,  patient,  per- 
son, physician,  relation,  relative,  reporter,  secretary,  sov- 
ereign, witness;  practically  all  the  innumerable  nouns 
in  er,  as  buyer,  doer,  driver,  giver,  hearer,  intruder,  in- 
vader, interviewer,  reader,  receiver,  singer,  speaker, 
stenographer,  stranger,  traveler,  voyager,  worshiper, 
writer;  all  nouns  in  ist,  as  antagonist,  artist,  chemist, 
copyist,  geologist,  pianist,  psychologist,  zoologist;  most 


12  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

nouns  in  or,  as  author,  contractor,  counselor,  doctor, 
editor,  orator,  visitor;  most  names  of  animals,  as  ape, 
bear,  beaver,  bird,  butterfly,  elephant,  fish,  monkey,  mule, 
ostrich,  robin,  shark,  swallow,  and  innumerable  others. 
The  English  language,  for  the  most  part,  disregards 
gender  in  nouns. 

Is  not  this  indefiniteness  an  oversight  and  a  defect  in 
the  language  ?  On  the  contrary,  it  is  a  concession  to  the 
natural  movement  of  human  thought.  If  we  say,  "This 
error  was  made  by  the  copyist,"  the  sex  of  the  copyist 
is  not  of  the  slightest  consequence.  The  very  thing  we 
want  is  a  word  that  will  not  oblige  us  to  ascertain  his- 
torically whether  the  copying  was  done  by  a  man  or  a 
woman,  before  we  can  complete  our  sentence.  The  noun 
copyist  is  indeterminate  in  gender  because  we  wish  it  to 
be  so,  and  it  will  be  found  that  every  synonym  we  can 
use  for  that  noun,  amanuensis,  secretary,  stenographer, 
transcriber,  or  typewriter,  is  similarly  indeterminate.  It 
would  cramp  the  language  and  restrict  freedom  of 
speech,  if  we  were  to  tie  such  a  word  to  a  definite  gen- 
der. The  same  law  of  thought  controls,  for  the  most 
part,  with  reference  to  the  various  animals.  If  a  person 
is  chased  by  a  bear  in  the  woods,  or  kicked  by  a  vicious 
mule,  the  sex  of  the  animal  is  ordinarily  a  matter  of 
indifference,  and  it  is  a  decided  convenience  that  he  does 
not  have  to  determine  the  gender  of  his  noun  before 
he  can  report  the  incident.  This  non-identification  of 
gender  has  become  the  general  characteristic  of  English 
nouns  denoting  living  beings.  So  far  has  this  been 
carried  that  the  number  of  English  nouns  in  ordinary 
use  that  can  be  classed  as  distinctively  masculine  or 
feminine  does  not  probably  exceed  one  hundred  and 
fifty.  The  active  tendency  of  the  English  language  is 
to  minimize  gender  in  nouns. 


THE    SIMPLICITY   OF    ENGLISH  13 

Turning  now  to  the  article  and  the  adjective,  and 
treating  these  for  the  moment  as  separate,  we  find  in 
them  a  still  more  conclusive  triumph  of  English  sim- 
plicity. In  the  languages  that  have  so  emphasized 
gender  in  nouns,  it  seems  to  have  been  thought  that  the 
articles  and  the  adjectives  must  also  have  gender,  in 
order  to  move  in  the  same  society.  In  Greek  the  article 
and  the  adjective  are  both  declined,  having  each  three 
genders,  three  numbers  and  five  cases.  Before  using  a 
Greek  article  or  adjective  it  is  necessary  to  settle  the 
gender,  number,  and  case  of  the  noun,  and  then  to  use 
a  special  form  of  article  or  adjective  according  to  the 
gender,  number,  and  case  of  the  noun  to  be  employed. 

The  Latin  took  the  short  method  with  the  article  by 
abolishing  it  altogether;  but  the  Latin  has  three  de- 
clensions of  adjectives  in  three  genders  and  two  num- 
bers, making  it  necessary  to  settle  the  gender,  number 
and  case  of  the  noun,  and  then  use  a  special  form  of  the 
adjective  to  match  the  gender,  number,  and  case  of  the 
noun  employed.  One  must  know  some  seventy  or  eighty 
principal  adjective  forms  in  either  language  in  order  to 
be  sure  of  applying  the  right  form  of  adjective  to  any 
noun  it  is  desired  to  use ;  and  when  we  add  comparatives 
and  superlatives,  which  are  also  declined,  and  various 
irregular  and  variant  forms,  the  number  may  be  in- 
creased almost  indefinitely.  In  German  the  articles, 
definite  and  indefinite,  are  both  declined,  while  the 
adjective  has  two  forms  of  declension,  the  strong  and 
the  weak,  with  three  genders,  two  numbers,  and  four 
cases  diversifying  all.  Then  the  combinations  of  the 
adjective  forms  with  those  of  the  article  vary  from  the 
scheme  in  an  arbitrary  way  which  is  to  the  foreigner 
highly  confusing. 

Over  against  all  this  complexity  we  set  the  English 


14  EXPEESSIVE    ENGLISH 

article  and  adjective,  absolutely  without  declension.  A, 
with  its  euphonic  variant  an,  or  the  never-changing  the, 
may  be  used  with  any  noun  in  any  gender,  person, 
number,  or  case.  Against  all  the  varying  forms  of 
adjectives  in  other  tongues  we  set  the  constant  English 
form  that  knows  no  change,  whatever* may  happen  to  be 
the  noun  which  it  modifies.  Good,  bad,  fast,  slow,  wise, 
foolish,  strong,  weak  or  whatever  the  adjective  may  be, 
the  English-speaking  person  needs  to  learn  the  original 
form  but  once,  and  it  is  his  in  perpetuity..  He  will  never 
be  troubled  with  vowel  changes  or  new  terminations  in 
all  after  time.  He  does  not  appreciate  the  gain  made 
by  this  emancipation  of  the  adjective  until  he  tries  to 
learn  one  of  the  "highly  inflected  languages,"  in  which 
he  finds  himself  strangely  cramped.  However  well  he 
may  know  the  noun  he  would  use,  yet  he  can  not  speak, 
because  he  can  add  no  article  or  adjective  till  he  has 
first  diagnosed  the  gender,  person,  number,  and  case 
of  tha't  noun,  and  then  selected,  from  a  tabulated  collec- 
tion an  article  or  adjective  of  that  same  gender,  person, 
number,  and  case — the  only  one  that  may  properly  be 
administered.  He  finds,  himself  in  the  position  of  the 
lady  who  can  not  put  on  a  perfectly  comfortable  pair  of 
gloves,  because  they  are  not  of  the  right  shade  to  match 
her  gown.  In  his  mother-tongue  he  has  no  such  per- 
plexities. There  he  may  start  with  article  or  adjective 
in  one  unvarying  form,  and  wait  for  the  noun  to  come 
along,  knowing  that  the  combination  can  not  fail  to  be 
right.  He  can  not  make  a  mistake,  because  there  is  none 
to  be  made.  The  child  or  the  foreigner  has  to  learn 
the  form  of  an  English  adjective  but  once,  and  that  form 
is  right  in  all  possible  situations,  for  there  is  no  change. 
There  may  be  said,  indeed,  to  be  a  certain  loss.  In 
English  it  is  not  possible,  as  in  those  other  tongues, 


THE    SIMPLICITY   OF   ENGLISH  15 

to  toss  an  adjective  into  a  sentence  anywhere,  and  be  sure 
of  fitting  it  to  some  wandering  ncun,  as  you  identify 
your  trunk  in  the  baggage-room  by  the  duplicate  check. 
The  English  adjective  must  keep  in  close  touch  with  its 
noun,  and  can  be  known  as  belonging  to  it  only  by  the 
order  of  words.  But  this  loss  is  a  gain,  for  the  English 
order  of  words  is  also  the  order  of  thought.  However 
far  the  adjective  may  be  from  its  noun  in  the  inflected 
languages,  the  mind  must  ultimately  bring  them  to- 
gether, jumping  over  the  interjected  words,  in  order  to 
complete  the  thought.  But  the  English  puts  the  adjec- 
tive beside  its  noun,  so  that  the  mind  associates  the  con- 
nected ideas  at  the  start,  and  no  intellectual  acrobatics 
are  required.  The  verbal  athlete  may  miss  a  spectacular 
performance,  but  the  speaker  or  the  hearer,  the  writer 
or  the  reader,  gains  incalculably  in  readiness  of  appre- 
hension. The  mind  receives  the  associated  ideas  together 
in  the  beginning,  as  it  must  in  any  event  bring  them 
together  in  the  outcome. 

Still,  the  critic  may  ask,  how  is  it  possible  that  this 
should  be  adequate?  How  can  a  single  English  article 
or  adjective  be  a  substitute  for  the  many  variants  of 
either  in  other  languages?  The  answer  is,  that  the  in- 
flected languages  have  been  carrying  for  ages  a  vast 
amount  of  useless  lumber.  This  could,  indeed,  be  fash- 
ioned by  cunning  hands  into  artistic  shapes,  but  it  is  in 
no  way  necessary  to  the  expression  of  human  thought, 
and  the  English  language  has  proved  by  the  sure  test  of 
experience  that  the  unmodified  article  and  adjective  can 
say  all  that  article  and  adjective  ever  have  to  say  in 
human  speech.  When  we  use  the  expression  "the  good 
man",  "the  good  woman",  "the  good  house",  we  could 
not  describe  either  object  more  perfectly,  though  we 
were  to  torture  "the"  and  "good"  into  assuming  any 


16  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

fantastic  variations  whatsoever,  when  they  pass  from 
modifying  the  masculine  to  modifying  the  feminine  or 
the  neuter  noun.  The  English  used  has  thus  expressed 
all  that  article  and  adjective  can  express,  and  since  modi- 
fications are  not  necessary,  their  existence  in  other  lan- 
guages is  sometimes  an  element  of  weakness  in  those  lan- 
guages, and  not  an  evidence  of  richness  or  strength. 
Change  of  form  for  no  adequate  reason  has  the  defect  of 
burdening  the  memory  without  illuminating  the  thought. 
It  is  the  better  machine  that  dispenses  with  needless  parts. 

When  we  pass  to  the  English  pronoun  we  find  it  almost 
genderless.  Gender  is  found  only  in  three  personal  pro- 
nouns of  the  third  person,  and  only  in  the  singular 
number  in  those  three,  he,  she  and  it,  their  common 
plural,  they,  referring  either  to  a  masculine,  a  feminine, 
or  a  neuter  antecedent.  Yet  how  very  seldom  do  we  find 
any  difficulty  in  making  clear  the  gender  of  any  ante- 
cedent to  which  a  pronoun  may  refer!  We  are  aware 
of  no  lack  of  pronominal  gender.  Rather  we  often  think 
that  we  have  still  too  much ;  when,  for  instance,  we  start 
into  such  a  sentence  as,  "If  any  one  fails  to  be  present 
on  time,  he  or  she  will  lose  his  or  her  seat."  Then,  in 
our  eagerness  to  escape,  we  long  for  a  genderless  singular 
of  the  pronoun  of  the  third  person  to  match  the  gender- 
less  plural,  and  those  who  are  not  afraid  of  the  school- 
master promptly  retire  upon  the  plural,  using  they,  their 
and  them  in  place  of  the  too  specific  singular,  wishing 
for  less  gender  rather  than  more.  Still,  in  the  pronoun, 
English  simplicity  has  done  very  well. 

At  the  threshold  of  the  verb  in  most  languages*  the 
specter  of  gender  vanishes,  as  the  goblins  of  old  were 
halted  by  a  running  stream.  But  inflection  knows  no 
charm  or  spell,  and  descends  upon  the  verb  as  its  pecu- 


With  rare  exceptions,  as  of  the  Hebrew  amd  Russian.  , 


THE    SIMPLICITY   OF    ENGLISH  17 

liar  prey.  The  Greek  verb  has  507*  parts,  which  the 
simpler  Latin  was  able  to  reduce  to  no  less  than  443. 
Here  the  English  language  has  broken  all  precedent. 
Omitting  the  second  person  singular — the  forms  with 
"thou" — the  most  complicated  English  verb,  the  verb 
be,  has  in  present  use  but  eight  different  forms, — be,  am, 
is,  are,  was,  were,  being,  been.  The  verb  be  is  alone  in 
this  proud  distinction.  No  other  irregular  verb  has  more 
than  five  changes  of  form;  as  give,  gave,  gives,  giving, 
given.  A  regular  verb  has  but  four  changes  of  form ;  as 
love,  loved,  loves,  loving;  and  out  of  at  least  8,000  verbs 
in  the  English  language,  only  a  little  list  of  200  are 
irregular.  The  modes  and  tenses  that  express  the  manner 
and  time  of  actions  are  for  the  most  part  formed  by 
auxiliary  verbs — be,  can,  do,  have,  may,  must,  shall,  will, 
and  when  the  forms  and  combinations  of  these  eight 
auxiliaries  are  once  learned,  they  are  the  same  for  all  our 
thousands  of  English  verbs.  Four  or  five  forms  of  the 
principal  verb  combined  with  eight  auxiliaries  consti- 
tute the  simple  scheme  that  the  English  has  to  deal  with 
in  place  of  all  the  terminations  and  augments  and  inter- 
nal vowel  changes  that  other  languages  offer  by  scores 
and  hundreds. 

By  reason  of  this  marvelous  simplicity,  our  language 
meets  more  fully  than  any  other  has  ever  done  a  funda- 
mental law  of  the  expression  of  thought  in  words.  Her- 
bert Spencer's  famous  paragraph  on  "Economy  of 
Attention"  might  be  taken  as  a  statement  of  the  under- 
lying principle  that  has  governed  the  historic  evolution 
of  English  speech. 

"Regarding  language  as  an  apparatus  of  symbols  for  the 


*Curtius:  "Das  Griechische  Verbum"  (The  Greek  Verb),  p.  5. 
Certain  other  scholars  have  given  a  much  greater  number.  I 
here  give  the  lowest  scholarly  estimate  known  to  me. 


18  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

conveyance  of  thought,  we  may  say  that,  as  in  a  mechanical 
apparatus,  the  more  simple  and  the  better  arranged  its  parts, 
the  greater  will  be  the  effect  produced.  In  either  case,  what- 
ever force  is  absorbed  by  the  machine  is  deducted  from  the 
result.  .  .  .  The  more  time  and  attention  it  takes  to 
receive  and  understand  each  sentence,  the  less  time  and  at- 
tention can  be  given  to  the  contained  idea,  and  the  less 
vividly  will  that  idea  be  conceived." 

If  the  men  who  framed  our  language  could  have  con- 
sulted Spencer  five  hundred  years  in  advance,  and  kept 
his  exposition  before  them  throughout  all  their  struggles, 
they  could  scarcely  have  done  more  to  realize  his  con- 
ception of  effective  expression.  The  discovery  that  con- 
formity of  the  order  of  words  to  the  order  of  thought 
could  be  a  substitute  for  the  complex  machinery  of  inflec- 
tion is  one  of  the  greatest  inventions  of  the  ages  as  re- 
gards the  use  of  language,  and  is  a  triumphant  success. 

English  simplicity  is  no  survival  of  spoliation  and  im- 
poverishment, no  residue  of  linguistic  decay,  but  an  at- 
tainment, an  achievement  of  the  highest  dignity  and 
value.  Prom  the  complicated  constructions  of  the  classic 
tongues,  of  the  rival  languages  of  modern  Europe,  and 
even  of  its  parent  Anglo-Saxon,  English  has  intelligently 
and  resolutely  stripped  itself  free,  as  David  put  off  the 
encumbering  armor  of  Saul,  to  gain  freedom  as  the  means 
of  power. 

It  would  seem  that  this  infleetionless  language  is  what 
the  world  has  been  waiting  for.  Because  its  simplicity  of 
structure  puts  so  few  obstacles  in  a  foreigner 's  way,  the 
English  language  is  comparatively  easy  to  learn,  men 
of  every  race  finding  it  simpler  than  their  own.  The 
surprize  of  a  foreign  student  of  English  is  often  almost 
comical,  as  he  looks  around  for  difficulties  which  he 
can  not  find.  His  chief  difficulty,  indeed,  is  to  get  along 
without  complications.  He  is  like  a  swimmer  accustomed 


THE    SIMPLICITY   OF    ENGLISH  19 

to  artificial  aids,  who  fears  to  trust  himself  to  the  water, 
though  the  moment  he  does  so  he  is  free.  This  facility 
of  acquirement,  joined  with  the  enterprise  and  efficiency 
of  the  nations  that  use  it,  is  fast  making  English  a  world- 
language,  spoken  as  their  vernacular  by  one  hundred 
and  thirty  millions,  and  dominating  the  territory,  the 
government,  the  business  and  to  a  great  extent  the 
thought,  of  five  hundred  millions  of  people. 

A  natural  objection  may  be,  that  while  a  language 
so  simple  might  be  a  ready  medium  of  communication, 
yet  it  must  be  lacking  in  range,  diversity  and  fulness, 
and  so  tend  to  barrenness  and  monotony.  But  from  this 
result  our  language  is  preserved  by  its  rich  variety  and 
abundance  of  words  inherited  from  its  diverse  ancestry, 
and  gathered  by  exploration,  travel,  commerce  and  con- 
quest all  around  the  world.  Thoughts  of  highest  sub- 
limity and  the  most  ordinary  ideas  of  common  life,  the 
profound  researches  of  science,  and  the  light  flashes  of 
wit  and  humor,  the  fiery  splendor  of  impassioned  oratory, 
and  the  dry  precision  of  the  legal  document,  find  equal 
facility  of  utterance  in  English  speech.  English  poets 
for  five  hundred  years  have  proved  that  the  language, 
strong  to  wield  the  sword  or  the  sledge,  has  also  skill 
to  tune  the  lyre.  It  is  equally  perfect  in  adaptation  in 
Milton's  sublime  epic  and  in  Tennyson's  cradle  song. 
In  Shakespeare  the  diversity  of  language  is  as  marked 
as  the  limitless  versatility  of  portraiture.  Kings  and 
peasants,  statesmen  and  clowns,  tradesmen  and  soldiers, 
ladies  and  servant  maids,  in  every  extreme  of  frolicsome 
joy  or  furious  rage  or  heart-broken  lament,  all  speak 
English,  but  a  different  English,  always  apt  and  ex- 
pressive, always  fitting  the  character  and  the  occasion. 
In  the  centuries  since  that  day  a  vast  store  of  new  words 
has  been  added,  to  meet  the  demands  of  advancing  and 


20  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

broadening  civilization,  though  under  the  controlling 
influence  of  its  early  type  all  increase  of  material  or 
improvement  in  construction  has  still  been  in  the  line 
of  perfected  simplicity. 

The  literary  development  of  our  language  has  been 
along  the  line  of  its  historical  evolution.  As  the  poet  of 
nature  and  of  human  life,  Chaucer  loved  the  homely 
word  and  the  simple  idiom.  The  men  of  Elizabeth's  day 
were  sailing  the  seas,  fighting  the  Armada,  starting  out 
on  the  Baconian  method  in  science,  and  trading  to  the 
then  accessible  ends  of  the  earth.  Effective  directness 
was  their  controlling  passion.  They  wrought  their  lan- 
guage to  a  strength,  vigor,  and  melody  that  comes  to  us 
still  like  a  free,  fresh  breeze  from  mountain  or  ocean. 
In  the  ensuing  age  there  was  a  reaction  to  artificiality, 
so  that  the  really  great  thoughts  of  certain  scholars  and 
divines  of  that  day,  in  their  cumbrous  splendor,  remind 
us  of  the  captive  Zenobia  fainting,  as  the  legend  has  it, 
under  the  weight  of  her  golden  chains.  All  this  was 
happily  dispelled  by  the  Cromwellian  revolution.  The 
Puritans  had  their  own  faults  of  style,  but  because  they 
were  fighting  for  very  life  on  earth,  and  for  the  hope  of 
eternal  life  beyond,  they  were  real  to  the  uttermost. 
Finical  embroideries  of  speech  had  for  them  no  place. 
When  there  arose  within  their  own  ranks  a  Milton,  who, 
while  he  kept  the  faith,  dared  to  endow  it  with  beauty, 
English  literature  began  once  again  to  evince  the  high 
qualities  of  the  Elizabethan  era.  The  mental  and  moral 
emptiness  of  the  Restoration  fortunately  prevented  its 
characteristic  writers  from  making  any  permanent 
mark  upon  literature,  most  of  the  favorites  of  the  court 
and  the  play-houses  of  the  period  being  now  known 
only  to  scholars.  Milton  and  Bunyan,  though  writing 
within  those  years,  were  in  fact  survivors  of  the  Crom- 


THE    SIMPLICITY   OF    ENGLISH  21 

wellian  epoch,  and  even  Dry  den  owed  all  that  was  best 
in  him  to  the  unrecognized  influence  of  that  earlier  and 
nobler  day.  Enough  of  English  manhood  survived  the 
period  of  decline  to  make,  in  the  succeeding  age,  an 
audience  for  Addison,  whose  triumph  was  the  death- 
blow of  literary  affectation.  Men  saw  and  felt  anew 
what  the  power  of  genuine  English,  unfettered  and  un- 
trammeled,  could  be.  Pope,  while  failing  of  the  sim- 
plicity of  nature,  was  a  consummate  master  of  the  sim- 
plicity of  art.  Johnson,  with  all  his  Latinisms,  was  found 
to  be  at  his  best  in  his  simplest  and  most  idiomatic  utter- 
ances. Goldsmith's  poetry  and  prose,  clear  and  bright 
as  the  waters  of  a  running  stream,  helped  the  movement 
on.  Burke,  even  in  his  most  ornate  periods,  strove  for 
luminous  clearness  as  the  means  by  which  to  convince 
and  persuade.  It  was  proved  to  demonstration  that 
English  needed  not  to  seek  extrinsic  adornments,  but 
merely  to  develop  its  own  inherent  power,  and  that  the 
simple  was  also  the  strong,  the  beautiful,  and  the  suc- 
cessful style. 

It  would  be  possible  by  a  survey  of  all  the  great  writers 
down  to  and  through  the  Victorian  era,  to  show  that 
those  who  had  most  of  this  quality  have  taken  the  highest 
place,  and  also  that  such  of  their  works  as  possess  most 
of  this  quality  are  the  most  admired,  the  most  cherished, 
and  the  best  remembered.  The  palm  is  ever  awarded  to 
the  author  who  has  the  skill  to  use,  and  the  courage 
to  trust,  the  simple  style,  if  he  have  but  a  message  that 
will  bear  to  be  so  expressed;  while  one  who  loads  his 
page  with  crowded  words  and  strained  constructions  is 
suspected  of  seeking  a  disguise  to  cover  barrenness  of 
thought,  or  censured  as  lacking  artistic  skill.  The  ideal 
of  the  literature  responds  to  the  ideal  of  the  language, 
forcing  author  and  orator  alike  to  recognize  that  with 


22  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

nobility,  vigor  and  beauty  of  thought,  simplicity  of  ex- 
pression is  the  way  to  glory,  honor  and  immortality. 

We  are  tired  of  the  toleration  of  English,  instead  of 
its  frank  recognition  as  one  of  the  grandest  languages 
on  earth.  We  have  nothing  to  apologize  for  in  our 
English  speech.  English  has  discarded  inflections,  not 
because  it  could  not  keep  them,  but  because  it  did  not 
want  them,  and  could  do  better  without  them.  In  every 
field  English  is  the  language  of  simplicity,  of  direct- 
ness, effectiveness,  achievement.  It  is  the  athlete  of 
languages,  appareled,  not  for  display  or  ceremony  but 
for  freedom  and  vigor  of  movement.  It  comes  into  the 
world's  battles  like  a  war-ship,  with  "decks  cleared  for 
action" — into  the  world's  toils  and  negotiations  with 
the  "shirt-sleeve"  readiness  at  which  European  diplo- 
matists have  laughed,  but  which  does  the  work,  cuts  the 
tangled  knots  of  perplexity,  and  wins  the  prize. 

The  poet  or  the  orator  or  the  essayist  is  freer  to  seek 
beauty  for  its  own  sake,  because  not  trammeled  in  every 
line  or  paragraph  by  the  bonds  of  grammatical  inflection. 
English  says  to  the  business  correspondent,  the  journal- 
ist, the  diplomatist,  the  orator  in  the  pulpit  or  the 
forum,  the  poet  in  rapt  utterance  of  poetic  thought, — 
' '  Use  words  for  what  they  mean,  and  no  arbitrary  inflec- 
tions of  grammar  shall  stand  in  your  way".  Grammar 
is  but  the  servant  that  waits  upon  the  sense ;  the  armor- 
bearer  that  keeps  trim  and  bright  the  sword,  helmet,  and 
shield,  and  hands  them  to  the  knight  in  the  moment  of 
need.  The  gold  of  the  living  language  is  yours,  and  in 
the  English  mint  no  mysterious  cabalistic  signs  are  im- 
pressed to  make  it  difficult  to  identify  and  use  the  coin. 
English  words  exist  for  what  they  mean,  and  wherever 
they  are  fairly  counted  out  shall  instantly  pass  current 
as  the  sterling  specie  of  thought. 


THE    SIMPLICITY    OF    ENGLISH  23 

English  simplicity  is  the  result  of  no  decay  or  decline, 
no  poverty  of  inheritance,  but  the  steady  evolution  of 
fifteen  hundred  years,  from  the  Anglo-Saxon  Conquest 
of  Britain, — the  genius  of  the  English  race,  generation 
after  generation,  cutting  away,  throwing  off  whatever 
complications  stood  in  the  way  of  effectiveness.  Admirers 
of  languages  that  riot  in  permutations  and  paradigms, 
declensions  and  conjugations  and  mysteries  of  gender, 
hold  up  their  hands  in  distress  over  the  ' '  poverty  of  the 
English  in  inflections."  But  that  poverty  is  its  glory. 

The  unfettered  freedom  of  English  construction  is  a 
long  advance  toward  that  ideal  of  human  utterance  that 
may  enable  one  mind  to  express  all  that  it  may  ever  have 
to  express  to  any  other  mind.  As  our  language  is  still 
living,  and  very  much  alive,  with  the  changes  that  are  the 
essence  and  evidence  of  life  before  it  still,  we  may  be 
confident  that  its  future  modification  will  be  no  retro- 
gression to  formality  and  complexity,  but  an  onward 
movement,  free  as  that  of  ocean  waves,  toward  the  full 
and  symmetrical  development  of  that  grand  simplicity 
which  has  already  made  it  a  new  and  illustrious  power 
among  the  languages  of  the  earth. 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  POWER  OF  ENGLISH 

The  English  language  is  a  power  because  it  is  a  life — 
the  life  of  a  great  people  expressed  in  words  that  still 
live.  It  is  not  an  inheritance  from  ancient  despotisms, 
not  an  accretion  through  slumberous  ages,  not  a  modern 
manufacture  made  to  order  and  for  a  purpose,  but  utter- 
ance that  sprang  into  being  in  the  heat  and  stir  and 
glow  of  a  people's  life,  pulsing  with  their  hopes  and 
fears,  their  joys  and  sorrows,  their  toils,  discoveries, 
achievements,  and  victories;  never  torpid,  asleep,  nor 
decadent;  never  having  found  its  limit,  but  beyond 
every  advance  pushing  on  toward  a  new  horizon.  At 
each  stage  the  language  has  enshrined,  incarnated,  the 
thought  and  deeds  of  its  earnest  present  to  be  the  motive- 
power,  the  inspiration  of  the  ages  to  come. 

We  defraud  ourselves  if  we  esteem  our  language  lightly 
because  it  is  our  own.  We  fail  of  the  breadth  and  range, 
the  loftiness  and  aspiration,  the  strength,  the  tender- 
ness, the  delicate  sense  of  beauty  of  which  the  language 
is  capable,  till,  with  loss  nf  expression,  thought  itself 
is  cramped,  dwarfed,  belittled,  starved.  So,  too,  we 
throw  ourselves  out  of  sympathy  with  those  master- 
spirits who  have  wrestled  with  the  genius  of  language, 
till  they  have  won  such  store  of  power  that  through  their 
utterance  may  be  seen  the  very  workings  of  their  mighty 
souls.  To  the  very  best  of  all  they  have  to  give  us  we 
become  color-blind.  In  the  great  cathedrals  of  Europe 
may  be  seen  from  time  to  time  some  group  of  peasants* 

24 


THE    POWER   OF    ENGLISH  25 

shambling  on  under  the  lofty  arches,  over  the  tesselated 
marble  floor,  past  the  pictured  frescoes  and  mosaics 
and  the  breathing  statues,  with  no  more  sign  of  appre- 
ciation than  might  be  shown  by  a  drove  of  oxen.  They 
may  be  more  impressed  than  we  know,  but  on  their  faces 
is  no  reflected  light  of  the  beauty  and  glory  that  are 
all  around,  above,  and  beneath  them.  So  thousands 
pass  the  masterpieces  of  English  with  the  flippant  re- 
mark that  they  are  "not  interesting,"  never  knowing 
that  this  lack  of  interest  simply  proclaims  the  limitation 
and  poverty  of  their  own  undeveloped,  unresponsive 
minds. 

We  are  all  too  apt  to  think  of  English  as  of  the  atmos- 
phere, as  something  needful,  indeed,  and  even  desirable, 
but  which  we  have  as  a  matter  of  course.  Multitudes 
get  along  with  a  pitifully  small  allowance  of  air,  in 
thronged  cities,  crowded  halls,  wretched  alleys,  or  sump- 
tuous apartment-houses.  Then,  if  on  some  holiday,  they 
find  themselves  on  the  mountain  top  or  the  ocean  shore, 
they  are  amazed  to  find  what  simple  air  can  be,  and  exult 
in  the  luxury  of  breathing.  With  equal  unwisdom  we 
limit  ourselves  to  the  commonplace  utterances  of  the 
shop  or  the  office,  of  the  household  or  the  evening  party. 
Then,  if  by  chance  we  read  a  bit  of  genuine  literature  or 
hear  an  accomplished  orator,  we  are  filled  with  wonder 
and  delight  at  the  undreamed-of  resources  of  our  familiar 
English  speech.  The  power  is  ever  there,  though  we  sel- 
dom climb  to  the  mountain-top  or  stand  on  the  free,  out- 
looking  shore. 

We  need  to  awake  to  the  grandeur  of  our  inheritance. 
The  English  language  is  one  of  the  noblest  ever  spoken 
or  written  among  men.  It  has  a  genius  all  its  own,  and 
in  the  hands  of  a  master  can  accomplish  results  that 
can  not  be  surpassed — and  in  some  respects  not  attained 


26  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

— by  any  other  form  of  human  speech.  This  is  not  to 
claim  that  English  is  superior  in  all  respects  to  all  other 
languages.  We  would  not  follow  the  example  of  Cole- 
ridge, master  of  English  and  sturdy  Briton  that  he  was, 
who  astounded  one  of  his  audiences  at  the  Royal  Insti- 
tution in  London  by  pausing  in  the  midst  of  a  lecture, 
and  devoutly  thanking  God  that  he  "did  not  know  one 
word  of  that  frightful  jargon,  the  French  language!" 
We  freely  admit  the  splendor  and  beauty  of  the  great 
languages  in  which  the  leaders  of  men  have  given  im- 
perishable thoughts  to  the  world.  We  thank  careful 
scholars  for  telling  us  of  their  excellence.  But  we  still 
maintain  that  for  every  excellence  they  can  show  in  other 
languages  English  can  offer  a  compensating  advantage, 
and  that  the  English  language  has  made  for  itself  a 
place  so  high  that  it  need  not  take  an  attitude  of  con- 
cession, humility,  or  apology  before  any  language,  living 
or  dead,  ever  spoken  among  mortal  men.  It  is  a  lan- 
guage worthy,  not  merely  of  approval,  but  of  admira- 
tion, eulogy,  enthusiasm. 

What  our  language  can  do  is  best  seen  by  considering 
what  it  has  done.  English  literature  is  one  of  the  young- 
est of  the  great  literatures,  for  it  set  forth  on  its  mighty 
march  when  the  Italian  was  already  old,  and  when  the 
Greek  and  Latin  were  ancient  and  dead.  Dante  died 
in  1321,  leaving  his  "Divine  Comedy"  a  monument  of 
perfected  Italian.  Chaucer  died  in  1400,  leaving  his 
"Canterbury  Tales"  as  reflections  of  the  dawn  of  still 
imperfect  English.  But  in  reality  the  sweep  of  our 
literature  is  much  less  than  this.  All  the  English  that 
the  world  now  reads  to  an  appreciable  extent  dates 
from  the  Elizabethan  age  (1533-1603),  and  from  the 
latter  part  of  that  great  period.  Spenser  published  his 
"Shepheard's  Calendar"  in  1579,  and  finished  his 


THE    POWER    OF    ENGLISH  27 

"  Faerie  Queene"  in  1595;  he  was  laid  to  rest  in  West- 
minster Abbey  in  1599.  Bacon  published  the  first  edi- 
tion of  his  ' '  Essays ' '  in  1597.  Shakespeare 's  first  play, 
"Love's  Labor's  Lost,"  is  placed  at  1589-1590,  and  his 
"Julius  Caesar"  at  1601.  We  might  roughly  assume  the 
year  1600  as  the  date  of  Bacon  and  Shakespeare.  It  is 
fairly  startling  to  perceive  that  within  the  short  space  of 
a  little  more  than  three  hundred  years  have  appeared  all 
the  most  eminent  English  authors  who  have  crystallized 
great  thoughts  in  immortal  words. 

"We  are  ancients  of  the  earth,  in  the  morning  of  the 
times. ' ' 

English  literature  has,  indeed,  passed  the  first  flush 
of  youth,  but  it  is  in  the  very  fulness  of  its  early  prime, 
its  brief  record  crowded  with  world-famous  names. 

It  is  remarkable  that  the  English  people,  one  of  the 
most  practical  of  all  peoples, — so  that  they  have  been 
called  "a  nation  of  shopkeepers" — have  found  poetry  a 
favorite  means  of  expression.  Under  the  crust  of  the 
military  and  the  mercantile  the  fire  of  imagination  has 
ever  been  burning.  Perhaps  it  is  that  very  imaginative 
power  that  has  made  them  see  the  whole  world  at  once  as 
the  field  for  their  achievement,  so  that  they  have  been  un- 
able to  rest  until  their  ships  have  traversed  every  sea, 
their  soldiers  and  explorers  crossed  and  their  traders  en- 
tered every  land.  The  first  conspicuous  expression  of  the 
composite  language  after  the  Norman  Conquest — aside 
from  Wyclif's  Bible — was  in  the  poems  of  Langland, 
Gower,  and  Chaucer.  From  that  point  onward  great  poets 
have  been  so  numerous  that  we  can  only  mention  the 
mere  names  of  a  few  of  the  most  conspicuous — Spenser, 
Shakespeare,  Dryden,  Milton,  Pope,  Cowper,  Coleridge, 
Southey,  Wordsworth,  Scott,  Byron,  Shelley,  Gray, 
Keats,  Campbell,  Moore,  Tennyson,  Goldsmith,  Brown- 


28  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

ing;  from  the  New  World  we  may  add  Longfellow, 
Bryant,  Whittier,  Lowell,  Emerson,  Holmes,  and  Poe. 

The  English  language  has  been  rich  in  oratory.  Pitt, 
Burke,  Fox,  Wilberforce,  Brougham,  Canning,  Bright, 
Cobden,  Gladstone,  Whitefield,  Wesley,  Spurgeon,  in 
England;  and,  in  America,  James  Otis,  Patrick  Henry, 
Webster,  Clay,  Everett,  Beecher,  Lincoln;  these  are 
only  a  few  of  those  whose  eloquence  has  made  them  im- 
mortal; while,  besides  these,  a  vast  host  have,  by  the 
power  of  convincing  and  persuasive  speech,  influenced 
the  march  of  events  throughout  the  history  of  the  Eng- 
lish-speaking peoples.  It  is  characteristic  of  the  prac- 
tical temper  of  those  peoples  that  they  have  allowed  little 
place  to  the  mere  splendor  of  fulsome  and  aimless  ora- 
tory. They  have  been  too  earnest  to  be  long  entertained. 
As  a  rule  the  great  English-speaking  orators  have  spoken 
for  some  direct  practical  result,  and  their  winged  words 
have  had  effect  in  legislation,  in  movements  of  armies, 
and  in  treaties  of  peace;  or,  when  not  so  immediately 
effective,  have  so  molded  public  opinion  that  the  policies 
for  which  they  pleaded  have  crystallized  into  govern- 
mental action  at  some  later  day.  In  spite  of  Burke 's 
tremendous  speech  of  impeachment,  Warren  Hastings 
was  acquitted,  but  that  speech  so  swayed  the  public 
opinion  of  England  as  to  compel  a  new  and  more 
humane  governmental  administration  in  India,  so  that 
the  influence  the  orator  then  set  in  motion  is  still  effec- 
tive in  the  conduct  of  the  British  colonial  administra- 
tion and  upon  the  welfare  of  millions  in  the  dependen- 
cies under  the  British  flag.  Webster's  eloquence  failed 
of  his  primary  intent,  but  succeeded  beyond  his  thought. 
It  could  not  avert  secession,  but  it  did  prevent  disunion. 
His  stately  and  resonant  periods,  his  cogent  argument, 
and  fervid  pleas  for  the  Union  were  declaimed  year  after 


THE   POWER   OF   ENGLISH  29 

year  by  boys  of  the  new  generation  in  every  schoolhouse 
throughout  the  North,  and  after  his  death  the  boom  of 
cannon  and  the  march  of  armies  made  real  beyond  de- 
bate his  great  aspiration  for  "Liberty  and  Union,  now 
and  forever,  one  and  inseparable."  English  eloquence 
has  not  been  wont  to  explode  in  pyrotechnics,  but  to 
crystallize  into  deeds. 

The  English  language  has  proved  itself  competent  in 
law,  where  it  has  had  the  hard  task  of  expressing  a 
new  law,  self -evolved.  While  the  nations  of  continental 
Europe  for  the  most  part  derive  their  jurisprudence 
from  the  ancient  Civil  Law  of  the  Roman  Empire,  the 
English  Common  Law  is  an  independent  system,  which 
grew  up  on  English  soil  out  of  the  needs  and  the  sense 
of  justice  of  the  English  people,  and  has  become  the 
basic  law  of  most  of  the  British  Possessions,  and  of  the 
entire  United  States,  with  the  exception  of  Louisiana. 
The  legal  words  were  gathered  where  they  could  be 
found,  incorporating  Latin  and  Norman  French,  but  all 
reshaped  to  English  expression.  You  may  go  into  a 
great  law  library,  and  see  the  sheep-bound  books  rising 
tier  above  tier,  alcove  within  alcove;  while  many  of 
them  are  necessarily  technical,  the  great  masters,  as 
Blackstone,  have  written  in  language  readily  compre- 
hensible by  any  educated  reader  of  English,  while  the 
chief  decisions  of  the  highest  courts  and  judges  are 
commonly  given  in  language  of  exceeding  simplicity,  and 
are  often  fascinating  studies,  merely  as  examples  of  con- 
densed expression,  simple  and  clear,  and  at  the  same  time 
vigorous  and  imbued  with  substantial  and  commanding 
strength. 

English  holds  an  eminent  place  as  a  language  of 
story-telling.  From  "Piers  Plowman"  and  the  "Trav- 
els of  Sir  John  Maundevile,"  in  the  fourteenth  cen- 


30  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

tury  through  Chaucer's  "Canterbury  Tales ;"  through 
Defoe's  "Robinson  Crusoe"  and  Swift's  "Gulliver's 
Travels ; ' '  through  the  works  of  the  great  novelists,  Jane 
Austen,  George  Eliot,  Charlotte  Bronte,  Scott,  Dickens, 
Thackeray,  Hawthorne,  Irving,  and  many  another; 
through  the  powerful  histories  of  Clarendon,  Robert- 
son, Hume,  Gibbon,  Milman,  Hallam,  Carlyle,  Macaulay, 
Froude,  Prescott,  Motley,  Parkman,  Bancroft;  through 
a  host  of  biographies  led  by  Boswell's  inimitable  "Life 
of  Johnson ; ' '  through  stories  of  travel,  exploration  and 
adventure  in  every  land  and  on  every  sea,  English  has 
proved  its  facility  and  felicity  in  narrative;  the  charm 
even  of  many  of  its  finest  poems  being  that  of  a  story 
exquisitely  told. 

English  has  developed  the  essay  to  wonderful  power : 
that  limited  expression,  without  the  fulness  of  a  treatise, 
copious  and  yet  free,  where  the  writer  says  on  one  topic 
the  best  he  has  to  say  then  and  there,  free  to  expand 
under  rush  of  thought,  free  to  stop  whenever  his  present 
information  is  exhausted  or  his  immediate  interest  flags ; 
then,  at  pleasure,  to  take  up  some  wholly  different  topic 
in  the  same  off-hand  way.  The  practical  directness  of 
the  English-speaking  people  has  made  this  form  of  writ- 
ing peculiarly  attractive  to  them,  and  so  successful  have 
English  essayists  been  that  one  who  should  read  only 
essays,  as  of  Bacon,  Addison,  Johnson,  Macaulay,  Car- 
lyle, Matthew  Arnold,  Ruskin,  Lamb,  Tyndall,  Huxley, 
Emerson,  Lowell,  Fiske,  and  Stedman.  would  gain  a 
very  wide  view  of  history,  biography,  philosophy,  relig- 
ion, science,  literature,  and  art,  as  well  as  of  the  move- 
ment of  thought  of  various  epochs.  It  is  true  that  his 
view  would  be  often  fragmentary,  and  that  he  would 
be  looking  through  colored  glasses,  strongly  tinted  by  the 
individuality  of  the  various  writers;  but  everything 


THE    POWER   OP   ENGLISH  31 

would  be  vivid,  while  the  essays  themselves  are  litera- 
ture, affording  in  themselves  many  noble  examples  of  the 
power  and  beauty  of  English  style.  For  the  drama, 
it  is  necessary  only  to  mention  Shakespeare,  great  as  a 
poet,  but  supreme  by  the  world's  consent  in  dramatic 
power. 

English  names  are  great  in  philosophy,  science,  and 
invention:  Bacon,  pioneer  of  the  inductive  method; 
Locke,  Berkeley,  Hume,  Reid,  Stewart,  Mill.  Hamilton, 
Jonathan  Edwards,  strong  thinkers  on  the  mysteries  of 
the  human  mind  and  of  the  universe ;  Darwin,  who  rev- 
olutionized the  conception  of  animate  nature  by  his 
theory  of  evolution ;  Harvey,  who  discovered  the  circu- 
lation of  the  blood ;  the  Herschels,  who  enabled  thought 
to  traverse  as  never  before  the  starry  spaces;  Newton, 
discoverer  of  the  law  of  gravitation;  Watt,  who  made 
available  the  mighty  power  of  steam;  Pulton,  who  wa., 
one  of  the  first  to  set  the  steam-engine  afloat,  and  gave  to 
steam  navigation  that  practical  utility  which  has  revolu- 
tionized commerce  on  all  the  waters  of  the  world ;  Frank- 
lin, who  identified  lightning  with  electricity,  and  put  it 
under  man 's  control ;  Morse,  who  taught  it  to  write  from 
afar  in  the  telegraph ;  Bell  and  Edison,  who  enabled  it  to 
speak  from  afar  in  the  telephone ;  the  Wright  brothers, 
making  the  navigation  of  the  fields  of  air  an  accom- 
plished fact ;  these,  and  a  multitude  of  others,  have 
proved  English  a  language  in  which  man  can  think  to 
purpose.  This  is  no  idle  boast,  for  language  conditions 
and  limits  thought.  When  Rome  wanted  to  appropriate 
the  philosophy  of  Greece,  it  often  found  that  its  martial 
Latin  tongue  lacked  the  words  adequate  to  express  philo- 
sophical thought.  It  was  not  until  Cicero  brought  over 
words  from  the  Greek,  coined  new  words  in  Latin,  and 
gave  to  other  Latin  words  new  significations,  that  phi- 


32  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

losophy  could  have  a  place  among  the  Romans.  Where 
men  have  done  great  thinking,  that  is  a  sure  evidence 
that  their  language  is  one  which  enables  them  to  originate 
great  thoughts,  to  hold  in  mind  their  own  thoughts  and 
those  of  others,  to  turn  them  over,  to  compare  them  one 
with  another,  and  thus  work  out  to  clear  results  and 
sound  conclusions.  English,  originally  a  language  of 
farmers,  fishermen,  sailors,  and  warriors,  has  risen  to 
such  capacity  by  natural  development  of  its  own  inher- 
ent power.  We  shall  be  told,  doubtless,  that  Bacon  and 
Harvey  wrote  their  scientific  works  in  Latin,  and  that 
hence  such  conclusion  can  not  apply  to  them.  The 
answer  is  that  they  lived  in  English,  the  language  in 
which  they  conducted  all  the  common  intercourse  of  life, 
and  through  which  it  may  well  be  believed  they  thought 
out  to  those  conclusions  which  they  wrote  in  Latin. 

Turn  where  we  will,  we  find  the  English  language 
a  power  in  every  department  of  human  thought.  We, 
whose  vernacular  it  is,  may  make  its  treasures  all  our 
own  by  the  mere  ability  to  read  and  spell.  We  need 
but  open  our  eyes  to  see  the  beauty  and  splendor  en- 
shrined for  us  in  the  masterpieces  of  our  mother-tongue. 

The  longest  step  toward  the  effective  use  of  English  is 
to  recognize  its  inherent  power.  For  the  estimate  in 
which  we  hold  our  language  will  largely  determine  our 
efficiency  in  its  use.  If  we  are  impressed  with  its  worth 
and  utility,  we  shall  seek  command  of  its  resources.  The 
boy  or  man  who  has  an  enthusiasm  for  baseball  will  learn 
something  about  the  game — at  least  enough  to  understand 
how  other  people  ought  to  play  it.  The  girl  or  woman 
who  religiously  believes  in  the  fine  art  of  dressing  well 
will  gain  a  magical  skill  in  the  choice  and  use  of  all  the 
various  stuffs  and  adaptations,  the  niceties  of  color  and 
form  that  make  a  perfect  toilet.  One  who  believes  in 


THE    POWER   OF    ENGLISH  33 

the  worth  of  shorthand  will  work  eagerly  at  its  mystic 
signs  to  make  his  hand  keep  pace  with  uttered  thought. 
Skill  and  proficiency  in  any  pursuit  come  from  some 
adequate  recognition  of  its  power  and  value. 

A  successful  sea-captain  tells  this  story  of  himself. 
When  a  young  man,  having  been  appointed  second  mate, 
he  was  invited  to  take  an  observation  beside  his  captain, 
and  congratulated  himself  on  being  only  five  or  six 
miles  out  of  the  way.  Looking  out  upon  the  vast  Atlan- 
tic, he  complacently  remarked  that  he  thought ' '  that  was 
doing  pretty  well;"  to  which  the  captain  sternly  an- 
swered, "No,  sir!  You  had  a  good  instrument  and  a 
clear  day,  and  there  is  no  excuse  for  your  not  being 
right.  You  should  have  known  exactly  where  your 
ship  was."  If  we  lightly  esteem  the  capacities  of  our 
language,  we  may  drift  on  through  life  in  forlorn  and 
shabby  utterance  with  the  comfortable  feeling  that  we 
are  "doing  pretty  well."  But  if  we  once  recognize  our 
language  as  an  instrument  of  precision  by  which  one  may 
chart  all  the  seas  of  thought,  we  shall  become  aware 
that  any  failure  to  express  ourselves  well  is  due  to  some 
fault  of  our  own,  which  it  should  be  our  first  business 
to  correct.  We  are  too  easily  content  to  live  in  a  corner 
of  our  inheritance,  unmindful  of  its  past  greatness  and 
possible  glories: 

"As  in  those  domes  where  Caesars  once  bore  sway, 
Defaced  by  time  and  tottering  in  decay, 
There  in  the  ruin,  heedless  of  the  dead, 
The  shelter-seeking  peasant  builds  his  shed ; 
And,  wondering  man  could  want  the  larger  pile, 
Exults,  and  owns  his  cottage  with  a  smile." 

We  struggle  with  poverty  in  the  presence  of  abun- 
dance. With  such  riches  available,  many  persons  scrape 
up  English  enough  to  serve  as  a  medium  of  communi- 


34  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

cation  by  which  to  buy  groceries  or  dry-goods  or  real 
estate  or  stocks,  run  railroads  or  factories,  or  talk  party 
politics  or  the  small  chat  of  the  sidewalk,  the  street-car, 
or  the  evening  company,  and  neither  hope  for  nor  imag- 
ine anything  more  or  better.  Our  vigorous  commercial- 
ism tends  to  degrade  language,  to  destroy  literature. 
There  is  no  imagination  in  a  ledger,  no  poetry  in  a  bank 
account,  no  beauty  or  sublimity  in  an  invoice,  no  rhythm 
and  melody  in  a  deed.  We  are  in  danger  of  a  language 
of  commodities  rather  than  of  emotions  or  ideals.  Every- 
thing that  does  not  relate  to  some  immediate  demand  of 
common  life  is  branded  "academic,"  or  in  our  slang 
as  ' '  high-brow. ' '  The  language  reacts  upon  the  thought, 
and  all  the  higher  things  of  mind  and  soul  are  bidden 
to  "clear  the  track," — "get  off  the  wire."  If  we  care 
only  to  satisfy  mere  material  wants,  we  invite  the  doom 
of  the  serpent,  "On  thy  belly  shalt  thou  go,  and  dust 
shalt  thou  eat  all  the  days  of  thy  life."  We  may  pur- 
chase financial  dominion  by  atrophy  of  all  the  noblest 
powers  of  the  soul. 

A  recent  critic  of  our  educational  methods  actually 
complains  of  a  teacher  who  set  a  class  of  high-school  girls 
to  reading  one  of  Jane  Austen's  novels  and  some  essays 
from  Addison's  "Spectator" — "useless  lumber  of  the 
past" — "when  they  might  have  read  the  latest  maga- 
zines!" Why  worry,  forsooth,  about  any  century  past, 
when  we  have  power  to  disport  ourselves  to  the  imme- 
diate present,  as  the  insects  of  a  day, — the  Mayflies  of 
huflianity  ? 

But  we  may  rest  assured  that  is  not  a  good  advance 
that  would  break  with  all  the  past,  fling  the  glorious 
centuries  behind  us,  until  little  we  rejoice  in  our  petty 
supremacy,  not  needing  converse  with  the  heroes  and 
Sages  who  have  built  up  the  very  ground  we  stand  on. 


THE    POWER    OF    ENGLISH  35 

Then  we  are  proud  of  being  "up-to-date,"  like  an  artist 
who  should  determine  to  look  at  no  picture  nor  statue 
that  was  made  before  the  year  1900 ! 

Against  this  spirit  we  would  set  the  clear  and  relent- 
less logic  of  Edward  Everett  in  his  Bunker  Hill  oration 
(in  1833)  : 

"I  am  asked,  What  good  will  the  monument  do?  And  I 
ask,  what  good  does  anything  do?  What  is  good?  Does 
anything  do  any  good?  .  .  .  does  a  railroad  or  canal  do 
good?  Answer,  yes.  And  how?  It  facilitates  intercourse, 
opens  markets,  and  increases  the  wealth  of  the  country.  But 
what  is  this  good  for?  Why,  individuals  prosper  and  get 
rich.  And  what  good  does  that  do  ?  Is  mere  wealth  as  an 
ultimate  end, — gold  and  silver,  without  an  inquiry  as  to  their 
use, — are  these  a  good?  Certainly  not.  I  should  insult  this 
audience  by  attempting  to  prove  that  a  rich  man,  as  such, 
is  neither  better  nor  happier  than  a  poor  one.  But,  as  men 
grow  rich,  they  live  better.  Is  there  any  good  in  this,  stop- 
ping here  ?  Is  mere  animal  life — feeding,  working  and  sleep- 
ing like  an  ox — entitled  to  be  called  good?  Certainly  not. 
But  these  improvements  increase  the  population.  And  what 
good  does  that  do?  Where  is  the  good  in  counting  twelve 
millions,  instead  of  six,  of  mere  working,  feeding,  sleeping 
animals?  There  is,  then,  no  good  in  the  mere  animal  life, 
except  that  it  is  the  basis  of  that  higher  moral  existence 
which  resides  in  the  soul,  the  mind,  the  conscience;  in  good 
feelings,  good  principles,  and  the  good  actions  (and  the  more 
disinterested,  the  more  entitled  to  be  called  good)  which  flow 
from  them.  K^ow,  sir,  I  say  that  generous  and  patriotic  sen- 
timents, sentiments  which  prepare  us  to  serve  our  country, 
to  live  for  our  country,  to  die  for  our  country — feelings  like 
those  which  carried  Prescott  and  Warren  and  Putnam  to  the 
battle-field — are  good,  humanly  speaking,  of  the  highest  or- 
der. It  is  good  to  have  them,  good  to  encourage  them,  good  to 
commemorate  them;  and  whatever  tends  to  animate  and 
strengthen  such  feelings  does  as  much  right  down  practical 
good  as  filling  up  low  grounds  and  building  railroads.  This 
is  my  demonstration." 


36 

In  the  crash  of  the  Civil  "War — which  was  "practical" 
if  ever  anything  was — we  needed  soldiers,  dollars,  guns ; 
but  we  needed,  even  more,  ideals  and  enthusiasm  to 
strike  a  soul  through  them  all.  Then  the  gray  memorial 
shaft  on  hard-fought  Bunker  Hill  became  the  inspiration 
for  Gettysburg;  and  in  the  stern  four  years  of  conflict 
Julia  Ward  Howe's  "Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republic," 
"Mine  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the  coming  of  the 
Lord,"  was  worth  to  the  Union  cause  more  than  a  rein- 
forcement of  a  hundred  thousand  men;  in  fact,  it  was 
sung  by  host  after  host,  as  they  came  marching  in,  again 
and  again,  "three  hundred  thousand  more." 

We  shall  need  the  thrill  of  grand  ideals  and  enthu- 
siasms still  for  the  different  struggles  and  conflicts  of 
the  present  and  the  coming  time.  We  shall  need  the 
power  of  all  the  good  that  has  come  to  us  from  days 
gone  by,  to  make  our  day  helpful  and  memorable  to 
those  who  shall  follow  us,  when  our  present  shall  have 
become  their  past.  For  this  we  must  have  words  of 
power  in  which  great  thoughts  may  be  expressed;  for 
principles  and  aspirations,  unless  uttered  in  words  or 
presented  in  word-pictures  before  the  mind,  are  never 
effective,  and  do  not  long  subsist.  If  we  fail  of  what  is 
worthiest  in  our  native  speech,  we  shall  in  the  same  de- 
gree limit  the  expansion  and  exaltation  of  our  own 
mind  and  soul.  Such  power — like  all  else  that  is  worth 
the  winning — can  be  won  only  by  those  willing  to  pay 
the  price.  In  the  words  of  that  accomplished  scholar 
of  the  nineteenth  century,  George  P.  Marsh :  * 

"English  is  not  a  language  which  teaches  itself  by  mere 
unreflecting  usage.  It  can  be  mastered  in  all  its  wealth,  in 
all  its  power,  only  by  conscious,  persistent  labor." 


"Lectures  on  the  English  Language,"  lect.  i. 


THE    POWER   OF    ENGLISH  37 

We  must  know  the  scope  and  resources  of  the  lan- 
guage, its  rules  of  construction,  its  elements  of  various 
power,  effective  now  for  one  result,  and  again  for  a 
widely  different  purpose ;  we  must  know  its  masterpieces, 
and  those  not  of  any  single  period,  for  no  one  age  can 
produce  a  literature.  While  gathering  the  riches  of  the 
present,  we  must  be  covetous  of  the  ampler  treasures  of 
the  storied  past.  To  put  ourselves  back  in  time,  to  let 
ourselves  go,  and  mentally  reproduce  the  conditions  and 
thoughts  of  the  men  of  other  days,  develops  the  imagina- 
tion, broadens  the  range  of  thought,  and  makes  the  very 
words  of  our  language  rich  with  the  content  of  cen- 
turies. 

Glance  backward  to  the  Elizabethan  period,  and  note 
a  soldier's  portrayal  of  a  peaceful  rural  scene.  Every- 
body has  heard  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney  and  his  " Arcadia," 
but  how  many  have  ever  read  a  line  of  it?  Study  the 
following  extract,  and  its  beauty  will  grow  upon  you. 

"The  third  day  after,  in  the  time  that  the  morning  did 
strow  roses  and  violets  in  the  heavenly  floore  against  the 
comming  of  the  sunne,  the  nightingales  (striving  one  with 
the  other  which  could  in  most  daintie  varietie  recount  their 
wrong-caused  sorrow),  made  them  put  off  their  sleep;  and, 
rising  from  under  a  tree,  which  that  night  had  bin  their 
pavilion,  they  went  on  their  journey,  which  by-and-by  wel- 
comed Musidorus'  eies,  wearied  with  the  wasted  soile  of 
Laconia,  with  delightfull  prospects.  There  were  hills  which 
garnished  their  proud  heights  with  stately  trees;  humble 
vallies  whose  base  estate  seemed  comforted  with  the  refresh- 
ing of  silver  rivers ;  medowes  enamelled  with  all  sorts  of  eye- 
pleasing  flowers ;  thickets  which,  being  lined  with  most  pleas- 
ant shade,  were  witnessed  so  to  by  the  cheerfull  disposition  of 
many  well-tuned  birds;  each  pasture  stored  with  sheep,  feed- 
ing with  sober  securitie,  while  the  prettie  lambes,  with  bleat- 
ing oratorie,  craved  the  dammes  comfort;  here  a  shepheard's 
boy  piping  as  though  he  should  never  be  old;  there  a  young 
shepheardesse  knitting,  and  withall  singing:  and  it  seemed 


38  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

that  her  voice  comforted  her  hands  to  worke,  and  her  hands 
kept  time  to  her  voice  musick.  As  for  the  houses  of  the 
countrey,  for  many  houses  came  under  their  eye,  they  were  all 
scattered,  no  two  being  one  by  the  other,  and  yet  not  so  farre 
off  that  it  barred  mutual  succor;  a  show,  as  it  were,  of  an. 
accompanable  solitarinesse,  and  of  a  civil  wildenesse.  .  .  . 

"But  this  countrey  where  now  you  set  your  foot  is  Arcadia. 
.  .  .  This  countrey  being  thus  decked  with  peace,  and  the 
child  of  peace,  good  husbandry,  these  houses  you  see  so  scat- 
tered are  of  men,  as  we  two  are,  that  live  upon  the  com- 
modi-tie  of  their  sheepe,  and  therefore,  in  the  division  of  the 
Arcadian  estate,  are  termed  shepheards;  a  happy  people 
wanting  (lacking)  little,  because  they  desire  not  much." 

The  "Arcadia"  was  written  in  1580  and  published  in 
1590 ;  yet  we  can  read  it  freely  to-day,  merely  remarking 
some  oddities  of*  spelling,  and  a  certain  quaintness  of 
language  which  only  adds  to  its  charm,  as  in  that  thor- 
oughly English  ideal  of  country  life,  with,  homes  entirely 
separate  and  independent,  "no  two  being  one  by  the 
other,"  yet  not  too  far  removed,  producing  the  effect 
of  "an  accompanable  (companionable)  solitude  and  a 
civil  wildenesse  (wildness)." 

From  the  same  period  let  us  choose  from  Spenser's 
' '  Faerie  Queene, ' '  a  poetic  description  of  a  scene  of  idyl- 
lic peace,  where  the  music  of  the  verse  even  enhances 
the  beauty  of  the  scene,  which  it  brings,  as  in  a  fair 
picture,  before  our  very  sight: 

"A  little  lowly  hermitage  it  was 
Down  in  a  dale,  hard  by  a  forest's  side, 
Far  from  resort  of  people  that  did  pass 
In  travel  to  and  fro ;  a  little  wide 
There  wag  a  holy  chappel  edifide.* 
Wherein  the  Holy  hermit  duly  wont  to  say 
His  holy  things  each  morn  and  eventide; 
Thereby  a  chrystal  stream  did  gently  play, 
Which  from  a  sacred  fountain  welled  forth  alway." 

*  Built. 


THE    POWER    OF    ENGLISH  39 

That  is  our  own  English  very  slightly  changed.  The 
Elizabeth  era  seems  not  so  very  far  away.  Of  that 
era,  the  greatest  author  can  be  represented  by  no  selec- 
tion; for,  as  has  already  been  said,  Shakespeare's  limit- 
less versatility  gives  every  range  of  style, — the  solemn, 
dignified  speech  of  princes  and  prelates,  statesmen  and 
generals,  in  triumph  and  in  disaster,  the  talk  of  rustics 
and  workingmen  and  common  soldiers,  of  queens,  of 
courtly  ladies,  of  tradesmen's  wives,  of  housemaids  and 
milkmaids.  We  can  not  cull  out  any  single  utterance, 
and  say,  "This  is  Shakespeare."  But  as  an  example  of 
his  higher  range  of  thought  and  utterance,  we  may 
choose  the  Soliloquy  of  the  Sleepless  King: 

"How  many  thousand  of  my  poorest  subjects 
Are  at  this  hour  asleep ! — O  sleep,  O  gentle  sleep, 
Nature's  soft  nurse,  how  have  I  frighted  thee, 
That  thou  no  more  wilt  weigh  my  eyelids  down, 
And  steep  my  senses  in  f  orgetf ulness  ? 
Why  rather,  sleep,  liest  thou  in  smoky  cribs, 
Upon  uneasy  pallets  stretching  thee, 
And  husht  with  buzzing  night-flies  to  thy  slumber, 
Than  in  the  perfumed  chambers  of  the  great, 
Under  the  canopies  of  costly  state, 
And  lull'd  with  sounds  of  sweetest  melody  ? 

Wilt  thou  upon  the  high  and  giddy  mast 

Seal  up  the  ship-boy's  eyes,  and  rock  his  brains 

In  cradle  of  the  rude,  imperious  surge; 

And  in  the  visitation  of  the  winds 

Who  take  the  ruffian  billows  by  the  top, 

Curling  their  monstrous  heads,  and  hanging  then 

With  deaf'ning  clamors  in  the  slippery  clouds, 

That  with  tbe  burly,  death  itself  awakes? 

Canst  thou,  O  partial  sleep,  give  thy  repose 

To  the  wet  sea-boy  in  an  hour  so  rude, 

And  in  the  calmest  and  most  stillest  night, 

With  all  appliances  and  means  to  boot, 


40  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

Deny  it  to  a  king?    Then,  happy  low,  lie  down, 
Uneasy  lies  the  head  that  wears  a  crown  "  * 

That,  in  its  mingled  dignity  and  simplicity,  is  not 
far  remote  from  the  speech  of  to-day,  except  for  here 
and  there  a  word. 

For  an  even  simpler  style,  and  more  purely  Anglo- 
Saxon,  we  may  pass  over  a  century  to  Bunyan 's  "Pil- 
grim's Progress,"  finished  in  1676.  Bunyan  seems  to 
us  old.  We  can  scarcely  persuade  ourselves  that  he 
lived  so  late  as  in  the  reign  of  Charles  II.  He  was  in 
the  Restoration,  but  not  of  it.  He  had  come  over  from 
the  Cromwellian  era,  full  of  Puritan  thought  and  speech. 
Never  connected  with  the  court,  never  favored  by  princes, 
by  the  wealthy  or  the  great,  he  kept  the  language  of 
the  common  people,  as  it  had  survived  through  lapse 
of  time  and  changes  of  dynasty.  In  him  we  see  how 
good  a  speech  the  "plain  people"  of  England  had  main- 
tained, however  scholarly  fashions  might  change.  In 
the  words  of  Macaulay: 

"The  style  of  Bunyan  is  delightful  to  every  reader  and  in- 
valuable as  a  study  to  every  person  who  wishes  to  obtain 
a  wide  command  over  the  English  language.  The  vocabulary 
is  the  vocabulary  of  the  common  people.  There  is  not  an 
expression  if  we  except  a  few  technical  terms  of  theology 
which  would  puzzle  the  rudest  peasant.  We  have  observed 
several  pages  which  do  not  contain  a  single  word  of  more 
than  two  syllables.  Yet  no  writer  has  said  more  exactly 
what  he  meant  to  say.  For  magnificence,  for  pathos,  for 
vehement  exhortation,  for  subtle  disquisition,  for  every  pur- 
pose of  the  poet,  the  orator,  and  the  divine,  this  homely 
dialect,  the  dialect  of  plain  workingmen,  was  perfectly  suf- 
ficient." f 

In  another  place  Macaulay  said  that  no  man  ever  had 


>  "K.  Henry  IV,"  Part  II,  Act  III,  Sc.  1. 
•}•  Essay,  "On  Southey's  Edition  of  the  Pilgrim's  Progress." 


THE    POWER    OF    ENGLISH  41 

to  read  a  sentence  of  Bunyan's  twice,  in  order  to  know 
what  it  meant. 

Let  us  quete  only  his  description  of  the  scene  after 
the  pilgrims  passed  the  dark  river  and  came  up  to  the 
gate  of  the  Celestial  City. 

"Now  I  saw  in  my  dream  that  those  two  men  went  in  at 
the  gate,  and,  lo  1  as  they  entered,  they  were  transfigured,  and 
had  raiment  put  on  them  that  shone  like  gold.  There  were 
also  that  met  them  with  harps  and  crowns,  and  gave  to  them, 
the  harps  to  praise  withal,  and  the  crowns  in  token  of  honor. 
Then  I  heard  in  my  dream  that  all  the  bells  in  the  city  rang 
again  for  joy,  and  it  was  said  unto  them,  'Enter  ye  into  the 
joy  of  your  Lord.' 

"Now,  just  as  the  gates  were  opened  to  let  in  the  men,  I 
looked  in  after  them,  and,  behold,  the  city  shone  like  the 
sun,  and  the  streets  also  were  paved  with  gold,  and  in  them 
walked  many  men  with  crowns  on  their  heads,  palms  in  their 
hands,  and  golden  harps  to  sing  praises  withal.  There  were 
also  of  them  that  had  wings,  and  they  answered  one  an- 
other without  intermission,  saying,  'Holy,  holy,  holy,  is  the 
Lord.' 

"And  after  that  they  shut  up  the  gates;  which,  when  I 
had  seen,  I  wished  myself  among  them." 

Of  the  same  period  as  Bunyan,  and  also  a  survivor 
of  the  Puritan  day,  in  which  he  had  been  Latin  Secre- 
tary of  the  State  Council  under  Oliver  Cromwell,  but,  un- 
like Bunyan,  endowed  with  all  that  the  best  private  and 
university  education,  enriched  by  foreign  travel,  could 
give,  John  Milton  stands  forth  as  representative  of  the 
older  English,  joined  with  all  that  was  worthiest  in 
.the  culture  of  the  newer  time.  Of  his  verse,  let  us 
consider  two  noble  sonnets,  of  which  most  persons  know 
only  one  or  two  ever-quoted  lines.  To  gain  the  realistic 
touch,  to  realize  what  the  privation  of  his  blindness 
meant  to  the  living  man  in  daily  life,  and  to  feel  the 
sustained  sublimity  of  high  motive  pervading  that  life, 


42  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

one  needs  to  read — and  to  ponder — all  the  words  as 
written  out  of  that  grand  mind  and  heart: 

To  CYRIACK  SKANNER,  1655. 

"Cyriack,  this  three  years'  day  these  eyes,  though  clear 

To  outward  view,  of  blemish  or  of  spot, 

Bereft  of  light,  their  seeing  have  forgot; 

Nor  to  their  idle  orbs  doth  sight  appear 
Of  sun  or  moon  or  star  throughout  the  year, 

Or  man  or  woman.    Yet  I  argue  not 

Against  Heaven's  hand  or  will,  nor  bate  a  jot 

Of  heart  or  hope,  but  still  bear  up  and  steer 
Kight  onward.    What  supports  me,  dost  thou  ask  ? 

The  conscience,  friend,  to  have  lost  them  overplied 

In  Liberty's  defence,  my  noble  task, 
Of  which  all  Europe  rings  from  side  to  side. 

This  thought  might  lead  me  through  the  world's  vain 
mask 

Content,  though  blind,  had  I  no  better  guide." 

ON  His  BLINDNESS,  1655. 

"When  I  consider  how  my  light  is  spent 

Ere  half  my  days  in  this  dark  world  and  wide, 
And  that  one  talent  which  is  death  to  hide 
Lodged  with  me  useless,  though  my  soul  more  bent 

To  serve  therewith  my  Maker  and  present 
My  true  account,  lest  he  returning  chide, 
"Doth  God  exact  day-labor,  light  denied?" 
I  fondly  *  ask.    But  Patience,  to  prevent 

That  murmur,  soon  replies,  "God  doth  not  need 

Either  man's  work  or  his  own  gifts.    Who  best 
Bear  his  mild  yoke,  they  serve  him  best.    His  state 

Is  kingly,  Thousands  at  his  bidding  speed, 

And  post  o'er  land  and  ocean  without  rest; 
They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait." 

All  know  Milton's  greatness  as  a  poet,  but  few  are 
aware  of  the  power  of  his  strenuous  prose.     So  much 


*  In  the  old  sense  of  "weakly"  or  "foolishly." 


THE    POWER    OF   ENGLISH  43 

of  it  deals  with  controversies  which  had  gone  before  our 
day,  and  were  often  so  bitter  even  for  that  stormy  time, 
that  we  often  fail  to  find  the  strong  and  even  beautiful 
utterances  hidden  in  his  rugged  tracts.  Let  us  quote 
but  one  paragraph: 

OP  TRUTH 

"And  though  all  the  winds  of  doctrine  were  let  loose  to 
play  upon  the  earth,  so  Truth  be  in  the  field,  we  do  injuri- 
ously by  licensing  and  prohibiting  to  misdoubt  her  strength. 
Let  her  and  Falsehood  grapple;  who  ever  knew  Truth  to  be 
put  to  the  worse  in  a  fair  and  open  encounter?  .  .  .  For 
who  knows  not  that  Truth  is  strong,  next  to  the  Almighty; 
she  needs  no  policies,  nor  stratagems,  nor  licensings  to  make 
her  victorious;  those  are  the  shifts  and  the  defences  that 
error  uses  against  her  power." 

Of  all  Dryden's  poetry  nothing  surpasses  in  vigor 
the  lines  which  he  wrote  in  his  young  manhood  in 
his  "Heroic  Stanzas  to  the  Memory  of  Oliver  Crom- 
well." 

Having  said  of  him, 

"His  ashes  in  a  peaceful  urn  shall  rest, 

His  name  a  great  example  stand  to  show, 
How  strangely  high  endeavor  may  be  blest, 
Where  piety  and  valor  jointly  go," 

he  summarizes  his  conquering  career  in  the  four  swift 
lines : 

"Swift  and  resistless  through  the  land  he  passed, 
Like  that  bold  Greek  who  did  the  East  subdue, 
And  made  to  battles  such  heroic  haste, 
As  if  on  wings  of  victory  he  flew." 

Let  us  next  turn  to  a  style  lighter  and  more  varied, 
and  take  up  Addison  's  incomparable  ' '  Spectator. ' '  We 
may  consider  the  paper,  number  231,  from  the  third  vol- 
ume, the  very  volume  which,  as  Franklin  relates,  so  in- 


44  I  EXPRESSIVE   ENGLISH 

terested  him  in  his  boyhood, — an  essay  on  true  and  false 
modesty.  The  essay  is  introduced  by  a  letter, — which, 
of  course,  is  written  by  Addison  himself — as  follows : 

"Mr.  Spectator: — You,  who  are  no  stranger  to  public  as- 
semblies, can  not  but  have  observed  the  awe  they  often  strike 
on  such  as  are  obliged  to  exert  any  talent  before  them.  This 
is  a  sort  of  elegant  distress  to  which  ingenuous  minds  are 
the  most  liable.  .  .  .  Many  a  brave  fellow,  who  has  put 
his  enemies  to  flight  in  the  field,  has  been  in  the  utmost 
disorder  upon  making  a  speech  before  a  body  of  his  friends 
at  home.  (Observe  the  fine  antithesis  between  'enemies'  and 
'friends,'  'field'  and  'home'.)  One  would  think  there  was  some 
kind  of  fascination  in  the  eyes  of  a  large  circle  of  people 
when  darting  all  together  upon  one  person.  I  have  seen  a 
new  actor  in  a  tragedy  so  bound  up  by  it,  as  to  be  scarce  able 
to  speak  or  move.  ...  It  would  not  be  amiss  if  such 
an  one  were  at  first  introduced  as  a  ghost  or  a  statue,  until 
he  recovered  his  spirits  and  grew  fit  for  some  living  part." 

To  this  the  "Spectator"  replies: 

"A  just  and  reasonable  modesty  does  not  only  recommend 
eloquence,  but  sets  off  every  great  talent  which  a  man  can 
be  possessed  of.  It  heightens  all  the  virtues  which  it  ac- 
companies ;  like  shades  in  painting  it  raises  and  rounds  every 
figure,  and  makes  the  colors  more  beautiful,  though  not  so 
glaring  as  they  would  be  without.  .  .  . 

"There  is  another  kind  of  vicious  modesty,  which  makes  a 
man  ashamed  of  his  person,  his  birth,  his  profession,  his 
poverty,  and  the  like  misfortunes,  which  it  was  not  in  his 
choice  to  prevent,  and  is  not  in  his  power  to  rectify.  If  a 
man  appears  ridiculous  by  any  of  the  aforementioned  cir- 
cumstances, he  becomes  much  more  so  by  being  out  of  coun- 
tenance for  them.  They  should  rather  give  him  occasion  to 
exert  a  noble  spirit,  and  to  palliate  those  imperfections  which 
are  not  in  his  power  by  those  perfections  which  are;  or, 
to  use  a  very  witty  allusion  of  an  eminent  author,  he  should 
be  like  Caesar,  who,  because  his  head  was  bald,  covered  that 
defect  with  laurels." 


THE   POWER   OF   ENGLISH  45 

It  is  vain  to  attempt  a  critical  analysis  of  Addison. 
Many  critics  have  tried  it,  and  all  have  been  foiled  by 
a  something  in  the  style  that  is  beyond  them.  At  first 
glance  every  sentence  and  paragraph  seems  so  easy  that 
you  feel  that  any  one  might  write  like  that, — until  you 
try.  The  style  has  power  without  the  trappings  or 
parade  of  power.  The  reality  of  that  power  is  best  seen, 
and  its  greatness  best  measured  by  its  effects.  Its  seem- 
ing lightness  and  ease  produced  results  at  which  we 
wonder  still,  changing  the  thought  of  all  England,  and 
deluding  a  corrupt  society  into  the  admiration  of  virtue. 
It  is  best  to  read  Addison  as  we  breathe  mountain  air, 
drawing  in  a  stimulus,  strength,  and  vigor  which  we 
can  not  wholly  explain. 

Dr.  Samuel  Johnson's  work  may  be  taken  as  repre- 
sentative of  the  Latinized  style.  Johnson  has  often  been 
criticised  for  using  that  element  to  excess,  and  filling 
his  pages  with  -ations  and  -osities.  But  you  will  find 
in  his  writings  much  that  is  at  once  strong,  refined, 
and  beautiful.  Note  the  celebrated  introduction  to  his 
"History  of  Rasselas,  Prince  of  Abyssinia," — a  story 
which,  by  the  way,  was  written  in  the  evenings  of  one 
week,  in  order  to  pay  the  expenses  of  his  mother's  fu- 
neral. What  command  of  the  stores  of  choice  English 
diction  a  man  must  have  had  to  write  page  after  page 
like  this  at  that  rushing  speed. 

"Ye  who  listen  with  credulity  to  the  whispers  of  fancy  and 
pursue  with  eagerness  the  phantoms  of  hope,  who  expect  that 
age  will  perform  the  promises  of  youth,  and  that  the  defi- 
ciencies of  the  present  will  be  supplied  by  the  morrow,  attend 
to  the  history  of  Rasselas,  Prince  of  Abyssinia." 

Then  let  us  consider  his  description  of  the  Happy 
Valley,  which  was  the  princes '  retreat : 


46  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

"The  place  which  the  wisdom  or  policy  of  antiquity  had 
destined  for  the  residence  of  the  Abyssinian  princes  was  a 
spacious  valley  in  the  kingdom  of  Ambara,  surrounded  on 
every  side  by  mountains,  of  which  the  summits  overhung  the 
middle  part.  The  only  passage  by  which  it  could  be  entered 
was  a  cavern  that  passed  under  a  rock,  of  which  it  has  long 
been  disputed  whether  it  was  the  work  of  nature  or  of 
human  industry.  The  outlet  of  the  cavern  was  concealed  by 
a  thick  wood;  and  the  mouth  which  opened  into  the  valley 
was  closed  with  gates  of  iron  forged  by  the  artificers  of 
ancient  days,  so  massy  that  no  man  could,  without  the  help 
of  engines,  open  or  shut  them.  The  valley,  wide  and  fruit- 
ful, supplied  its  inhabitants  with  the  necessities  of  life,  and 
all  delicacies  and  superfluities  were  added  at  the  annual  visit 
which  the  emperor  paid  his  children,  when  the  iron  gates 
were  opened  to  the  sound  of  music,  and  during  eight  days 
every  one  that  resided  in  the  valley  was  requested  to  propose 
whatever  might  contribute  to  make  seclusion  pleasant,  to  fill 
up  the  vacancies  of  attention,  and  lessen  the  tediousness  of 
time.  Every  desire  was  immediately  granted.  All  the  ar- 
tificers of  pleasure  were  called  to  gladden  the  festival,  the 
musicians  exerted  the  power  of  harmony,  and  the  dancers 
showed  their  activity  before  the  princes,  in  the  hope  they 
should  pass  their  lives  in  this  blissful  captivity,  to  which 
those  only  were  admitted  whose  performance  was  thought 
able  to  add  novelty  to  luxury.  Such  was  the  appearance  of 
security  and  delight  which  this  retirement  afforded,  that 
they  to  whom  it  was  new  always  desired  that  it  might  be 
perpetual;  and  as  those  on  whom  the  iron  gate  had  once 
closed  were  never  suffered  to  return,  the  effect  of  long  ex- 
perience could  not  be  known.  Thus  every  year  produced 
new  schemes  of  delight,  and  new  competitors  for  imprison- 
ment." 

To  show  the  wide  variety  of  which  our  language  is 
capable  and  its  power  of  sudden  adaptation  to  the  most 
diverse  and  contrasted  scenes  and  activities,  it  is  worth 
while  to  read  with  somewhat  critical  care  the  opening 
stanzas  of  Scott's  "Lady  of  the  Lake": 


THE    POWER    OF    ENGLISH  47 

"The  stag  at  eve  had  drunk  his  fill, 
Where  danced  the  moon  on  Monan's  rill, 
And  deep  his  midnight  lair  had  made 
In  lone  Glenartney's  hazel  shade." 

At  first,  how  calm  the  scene!  The  stag  "had  drunk 
his  fill"  in  the  silence,  because  there  came  no  sight  nor 
sound,  no  odor  on  the  evening  breeze,  to  alarm  his  quick, 
watchful  sense.  We  see  the  dimly  lighted  glen  and  the 
gentle  flow  of  the  stream  that  made  the  moonbeams 
"dance"  on  the  rippling  waves.  Then  we  observe  the 
wary  watcher  seeking  his  restful  couch  "deep  in  the 
hazel  shade,"  and  the  still  night  glides  by.  Sharply 
conies  the  transition  to  earliest  dawn.  Before  the  light 
had  flooded  the  earth,  while  it  is  touching  only  the 
mountain-tops,  the  rising  sun,  hidden  by  the  mountain, 
sending  up  its  first  rays  to  light  as  with  a  ' '  red  beacon ' ' 
the  highest  peak,  disturbance  comes. 

"But,  when  the  sun  his  beacon  red 
Had  kindled  on  Benvoirlich's  head, 
The  deep-mouth'd  bloodhound's  heavy  bay 
Kesounded  up  the  rocky  way, 
And  faint,  from  farther  distance  borne, 
Were  heard  the  clanging  hoof  and  horn." 

The  verse  and  the  very  words  fit  the  changing  scene. 
The  broad,  open  vowels — the  "deep-mouthed  blood- 
hound's"— "bay" — "resounded" — boom  with  the  rude 
intrusion  "up  the  rocky  way."  Then,  suddenly,  the 
words  accelerate: 

"As  chief  /  who  hears  /  his  ward  /  er  call:" 

— while  the  next  broken  line, 

"To  arms!  —  the  foe  /  men  storm  /  the  wall" 


48  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

rings  with  the  sharp  alarm.    At  once,  then, 

"The  antler'd  monarch  of  the  waste 
Sprung  from  his  heathery  coueh  in  haste. 
But,  ere  his  fleet  career  he  took, 
The  dewdrops  from  his  flanks  he  shook ; 
Like  crested  leader  proud  and  high, 
Toss'd  his  beam'd  frontlet  to  the  sky; 
A  moment  gazed  adown  the  dale, 
A  moment  snuff'd  the  tainted  gale, 
A  moment  listen'd  to  the  cry, 
That  thicken'd  as  the  chase  drew  nigh." 

The  "crested  leader"  proves  himself  "monarch  of  the 
waste,"  calmly  pausing  to  shake  "the  dewdrops  from, 
his  flanks"  and  to  take  the  measure  of  his  foes,  as  withi 
lifted  head  he  "gazed  adown  the  dale." 

"Then,  as  the  headmost  foes  appear'd, 
With  one  brave  bound  the  copse  he  cleared, 
And,  stretching  forward  free  and  far, 
Sought  the  wild  heaths  of  TJam-Var." 

There  is  the  sudden  bound  across  the  barrier.  Then 
the  alliterative  verse, 

"And  stretch  /  ing  for  /  ward  free  /  and  far," 

pictures  the  swift,  sustained  run  of  the  hunted  stag  in 
the  pride  of  his  morning  strength. 

Again  a  change!  The  "view"  is  a  special  hunting 
term.  It  denotes  a  moment  of  tremendous  excitement. 
When  the  game  that  has  been  wearily  tracked  appears 
suddenly  in  "view" — in  plain  sight — before  the  pur- 
suers' eyes,  the  deep  "bay"  of  the  tracing  hounds  breaks 
instantly  into  wild,  sharp  cries.  The  verse  changes 
accordingly.  The  verb  comes  first, — and  a  verb  of  wild 
outcry: 

'TELL'D  on  the  view  the  opening  pack; 
Rock,  glen,  and  cavern  paid  them  back." 


THE    POWER    OF    ENGLISH  49 

Then  the  hard,  jagged  sounds,  in  "rock,  glen,  paid, 
back,"  represent  the  harsh  confusion,  intensified  soon. 

"To  many  a  mingled  sound  at  once 
The  awaken'd  mountain  gave  response. 
A  hundred  dogs  bay'd  deep  and  strong, 
Clatter'd  a  hundred  steeds  along, 
Their  peal  the  merry  horns  rung  out, 
A  hundred  voices  join'd  the  shout; 
With  hark  and  whoop  and  wild  halloo, 
No  rest  Benvoirlich's  echoes  knew." 

The  varying  elements  that  make  up  the  riot  of  the  hunt 
in  full  cry  are  crowded  swiftly  together. 

"Far  from  the  tumult  fled  the  roe, 
Close  in  her  covert  cower'd  the  doe." 

The  wild  creatures  of  the  waste  fly  or  crouch  before  the 
dread  invasion. 

"The  falcon,  from  her  cairn  on  high, 
Cast  on  the  rout  a  wondering  eye, 
Till  far  beyond  her  piercing  ken, 
The  hurricane  had  swept  the  glen." 

All  the  human  riot  is  minimized  among  nature's  vast 
solitudes.  But  how  tell  the  story  of  the  receding  tumult  ? 
How  restore  the  scene  to  nature's  calm  again?  Four 
lines  suffice: 

"Faint,  and  more  faint,  its  failing  din 
Returned  from  cavern,  cliff,  and  linn, 
And  silence  settled,  wide  and  still, 
On  the  lone  wood  and  mighty  hill." 

The  whole  story  is  told  in  forty-six  lines !    The  reader 
seems  to  be  swept  from  the  peaceful  evening  through 


50  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

the  rushing  onset  with  the  hunters  at  dawn ;  then  to  be 
made  to  pause  while  nature  reasserts  her  reign  amid 
"silence  wide  and  still." 

Now  study  Ruskin's  sumptuous  and  splendid  descrip- 
tion of  an  Alpine  sunrise.  One  who  has  not  traveled 
among  vast  mountain  ranges  will  probably  think  the 
picture  overdrawn,  but  those  who  have  had  such  ex- 
perience will  be  aware  that  all  is  but  the  struggling 
effort  of  language  to  set  forth  a  glory  that  is  beyond 
expression. 

"And  then  wait  yet  for  one  hour,  until  the  East  again 
becomes  purple,  and  the  heaving  mountains,  rolling  against 
it  in  darkness  like  waves  of  a  wild  sea,  are  drowned  one  by 
one  in  the  glory  of  its  burnings;  watch  the  white  glaciers 
blaze  in  their  winding  paths  about  the  mountains,  like  mighty 
serpents  with  scales  of  fire;  watch  the  columnar  peaks  of 
solitary  snow  kindling  downwards,  chasm  by  chasm,  each 
in  itself  a  new  morning;  their  long  avalanches  cast  down  in 
keen  streams  brighter  than  the  lightning,  sending  each  his 
tribute  of  driven  snow  like  altar-smoke  up  to  heaven;  the 
rose-light  of  their  silent  domes  flashing  that  heaven  about 
them  and  above  them,  piercing  with  purer  beams  through  its 
purple  lines  of  lifted  cloud,  casting  a  new  glory  on  every 
wreath  as  it  passes  by,  until  the  whole  heaven — one  scarlet 
canopy — is  interwoven  with  a  roof  of  waving  flame  and  burn- 
ing vault  beyond  vault,  as  with  the  drifted  wings  of  many 
companies  of  angels;  and  then,  when  you  can  look  no  more 
for  gladness,  and  when  you  are  bowed  down  with  fear  and 
love  for  the  Maker  and  Doer  of  all  this,  tell  me  who  has 
best  delivered  his  message  unto  men." 

How  much  of  the  majesty  of  nature  human  words 
here  have  told !  Contrast  with  the  ' '  brightening  east ' '  the 
"heaving  mountains  rolling  against  it  in  darkness  like 
waves  of  a  wild  sea";  the  optical  illusion  pictured,  as 
the  mind  gives  to  the  giant  forms  in  the  changing 
light  the  suggestion,  not  of  mere  inert  masses,  but  of 


THE    POWER   OF    ENGLISH  51 

vast  active  agencies,  apparently  shouldering  each  other 
through  mist  and  shadow,  as  they  seem  to  crowd  toward 
some  far  center, — that  one  word  "rolling"  tells  the 
story — "rolling  against  it  like  waves  of  a  wild  sea." 
Mark  how  "the  white  glaciers  blaze"  in  their  winding 
paths  about  the  mountains;  change  but  the  one  word 
"blaze"  to  "gleam"  and  see  how  at  once  you  have 
dimmed  the  scene.  Note  the  "driven  snow," — perhaps 
the  whitest  thing  in  the  visible  creation,  white  with 
an  inner,  living  light  —  rising  "like  altar-smoke  up  to 
heaven;"  change  that  "altar-smoke"  to  "the  smoke  of 
altars,"  and  observe  how  you  have  impeded  the  ex- 
pression, how  heavy  it  becomes.  Catch  the  vision  of 
"the  purple  lines  of  lifted  cloud";  you  know  how  the 
mists  of  the  valleys  rise,  "lifted"  by  the  beams  of  the 
morning  sun  into  low-floating  clouds,  while  the  same 
sun  sheds  ' '  a  new  glory  on  every  wreath,  as  it  passes  by. ' ' 
Then  you  begin  to  perceive  how  much  is  in  the  magic 
of  words,  and  how  rich  the  language  must  be  that  can 
supply  the  master  with  store  of  words  fitted  to  tell  the 
glory  of  that  wondrous  scene. 

It  will  not  often  be  possible  in  our  brief  space  thus 
to  analyze  selections,  but  these  notes  on  the  passages 
thus  far  cited  will  indicate  how  the  work  may  be  done, 
and  each  reader  may  follow  out  the  method  for  him- 
self without  any  great  critical  apparatus.  Simply  try 
from  point  to  point,  in  any  selection  that  interests  you, 
to  substitute  other  words;  see  if  they  produce  the  same 
effect,  and,  if  not,  wherein  they  fail.  Sometimes  get 
the  thought  of  the  passage  into  your  mind,  and  then 
rewrite  as  best  you  can,  without  looking  at  the  book. 
Unless  you  have  memorized  the  words,  you  will  be  sure 
to  find  that  you  have  made  many  changes.  Wherever 
your  expression  is  inferior  to  your  author's,  study  to 


52  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

know  the  reason  why;  and  as  you  find  out  why  your 
words  are  less  desirable,  you  will  by  that  very  act  per- 
ceive why  his  are  more  effective.  Skill  in  such  judg- 
ment will  grow  upon  you,  will  increase  your  enjoyment 
of  reading,  and  will  react  upon  your  own  spoken  or 
written  style. 

Pass  now  from  sunset  to  night,  and  from  prose  to 
poetry  again,  with  the  following  on  a  winter's  night 
from  Shelley's  "Queen  Mab": 

"How  beautiful  this  night!     The  balmiest  sigh 
Which  vernal  zephyrs  breathe  in  evening's  ear 
Were  discord  to  the  speaking  quietude 
That  wraps  this  moveless  scene.    Heaven's  ebon  vault, 
Studded  with  stars  unutterably  bright, 
Through  which  the  moon's  unclouded  grandeur  rolls, 
Seems  like  a  canopy  which  love  has  spread 
To  curtain  her  sleeping  world.    Yon  gentle  hills 
Robed  in  a  garment  of  untrodden  snow; 
Yon  darksome  rocks  whence  icicles  depend, 
So  stainless  that  their  white  and  glittering  spires 
Tinge  not  the  moon's  pure  beam;  yon  castled  steep, 
Whose  banner  hangeth  o'er  the  time-worn  tower 
So  idly,  that  rapt  fancy  deemeth  it 
A  metaphor  of  peace; — all  form  a  scene 
Where  musing  solitude  might  love  to  lift 
Her  soul  above  this  sphere  of  earthliness; 
Where  silence  undisturbed  might  watch  alone, 
So  cold,  so  bright,  so  still!" 

That  can  be  read  again  and  again,  and  at  every  reading 
its  beauty  grows  upon  you.  The  study  walls  seem 
silently  to  move  away,  and  we  are  out  under  the  open 
sky  in  the  still,  perfect  night.  Change  the  scene  again, 
— combine  night  with  storm,  and  observe  how  the  lan- 
guage responds  to  the  sterner  harmonies  of  nature  in 
Byron's  account  of  an  Alpine  thunder-storm,  in  "Childe 
Harold": 


THE    POWER   OF   ENGLISH  53 

"The  sky  is  changed ! — and  such  a  change !     Oh  night 
And  storm  and  darkness,  ye  are  wondrous  strong, 

Yet  lovely  in  your  strength 

Far  along 

From  peak  to  peak,  the  rattling  crags  among, 
Leaps  the  live  thunder!    Not  from  one  lone  cloud, 
But  every  mountain  now  hath  found  a  tongue, 
And  Jura  answers  through  her  misty  shroud, 
Back  to  the  joyous  Alps,  who  call  to  her  aloud." 

Observe  the  power  of  that  succession  of  simple  words, 
" night  and  storm  and  darkness."  They  alone  set  forth 
the  scene,  needing  no  adjective,  and  almost  telling  the 
story  without  a  verb.  The  "Far  along"  pictures  the 
swift,  long  line  of  the  lightning  flash.  The  shivering  effect 
of  the  thunder-burst  is  heard  in  the  phrase,  ' '  the  rattling 
crags."  The  clouds  have  become  the  "misty  shroud" 
of  the  mighty  Jura  range,  yet  through  the  veil  she 
answers  "the  joyous  Alps,  who  call  to  her  aloud."  It 
needed  but  a  poet  to  see  and  hear,  and  the  power  of 
the  language  was  ready  with  instant  response  to  bring 
to  the  soul  of  every  one  who  can  but  read  the  sight 
and  sound  of  the  mighty  movement  of  nature. 

Turning  again  to  prose,  note  with  what  thrilling 
realism  one  of  England's  great  novelists  in  "David 
Copperfield"  has  described  an  ocean  scene  on  England's 
storm-beaten  shore: 

"When  we  came  in  sight  of  the  sea,  the  waves  on  the 
horizon,  caught  at  intervals  above  the  rolling  abyss,  were 
like  glimpses  of  another  shore  with  towers  and  build- 
ings. .  .  . 

"The  tremendous  sea  itself,  when  I  could  find  sufficient 
pause  to  look  at  it,  in  the  agitation  of  the  blinding  wind,  the 
flying  stones  and  sand,  and  the  awful  noise,  confounded  me. 
As  the  high  watery  walls  came  rolling  in,  and  at  their  highest 
tumbled  into  surf,  they  looked  as  if  the  least  would  engulf 
the  town.  As  the  receding  wave  swept  back  with  a  hoarse 


54  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

roar,  it  seemed  to  scoop  out  deep  caves  in  the  beach,  as  if 
its  purpose  were  to  undermine  the  earth.  When  some  white- 
headed  billows  thundered  on,  and  dashed  themselves  to  pieces 
before  they  reached  the  land,  every  fragment  of  the  late 
whole  seemed  possessed  by  the  full  might  of  its  wrath,  rush- 
ing to  be  gathered  to  the  company  of  another  monster.  Un- 
dulating hills  were  changed  to  valleys;  undulating  valleys 
(sometimes  with  a  solitary  storm-bird  skimming  through 
them)  were  lifted  up  to  hills;  masses  of  water  shivered  and 
shook  the  beach  with  a  booming  sound ;  every  shape  tumultu- 
ously  rolled  on,  as  soon  as  made,  to  change  its  shape  and 
place,  and  beat  another  shape  and  place  away;  the  ideal  shore 
on  the  horizon,  with  its  towers  and  buildings,  rose  and  fell; 
the  clouds  flew  fast  and  thick;  I  seemed  to  see  a  rending  and 
upheaval  of  all  nature." 

Would  you  have  a  battle-song?    Take  Campbell's  his- 
toric lay: 

"Ye  mariners  of  England 
That  guard  our  native  seas, 
Whose  flag  has  braved  a  thousand  years 
The  battle  and  the  breeze ! 
Your  glorious  standard  launch  again 
To  match  another  foe! 
And  sweep  through  the  deep, 
While  the  stormy  winds  do  blow; 
While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long, 
And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow." 

"The  meteor  flag  of  England 
Shall  yet  terrific  burn, 
Till  danger's  troubled  night  depart, 
And  the  star  of  peace  return. 
Then,  then,  ye  ocean  warriors, 
Our  song  and  feast  shall  flow 
To  the  fame  of  your  name, 
When  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow; 
When  the  fiery  fight  is  heard  no  more, 
And  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow." 


THE    POWER   OF    ENGLISH  55 

The  very  swell  of  ocean  and  sweep  of  wind  are  in 
the  lines.  American  hearts  answer  to  their  music,  for 
we,  too,  love  the  ocean ;  and,  though  in  defense  of  other 
seas  and  other  shores,  we,  too,  know  how  to  "brave  the 
battle  and  the  breeze." 

Now  read  two  stanzas  bringing  the  splendid  move- 
ment and  excitement  of  the  battle  into  touching  contrast 
with  nature's  quiet  beauty,  from  Byron's  stanzas  on 
"  Waterloo'': 

"And  there  was  mounting  in  hot  haste;  the  steed, 
The  mustering  squadron,  and  the  clattering  car, 
Went  pouring  forward  with  impetuous  speed, 
And  swiftly  forming  in  the  ranks  of  war; 
And  the  deep  thunder  peal  on  peal  afar, 
And,  near,  the  beat  of  the  alarming  drum 
Roused  np  the  soldier  ere  the  morning  star; 
While  throng'd  the  citizens  with  terror  dumb, 
Or   whispering,    with    white    lips — 'The    foe!      They    cornel 
They  come!' 

"And  Ardennes  waves  above  them  her  green  leaves, 
Dewy  with  Nature's  tear-drops,  as  they  pass, 
Grieving,  if  aught  inanimate  e'er  grieves, 
Over  the  unreturning  brave — alas ! 
Ere  evening  to  be  trodden  like  the  grass, 
Which  now  beneath  them,  but  above  shall  grow 
In  its  next  verdure,  when  this  fiery  mass 
Of  living  valor,  rolling  on  the  foe, 
And  burning  with  high  hope,  shall  molder  cold  and  low." 

Taking  t*hese  two  stanzas  by  themselves,  one  can  scarcely 
read  them  without  tears.  How  the  splendor  of  the 
charge  melts  into  the  moan  for  the  slaughter  of  heroes : 
— "the  unreturning  brave!"  Is  there  lack  of  martial 
energy,  stir,  and  fire,  or  of  tender  pathos  in  English 
speech  ? 


56  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

Coming  closer  to  our  own  time,  read  in  "The  Prin- 
cess" Tennyson's  echo  song: 

"The  splendor  falls  on  castle  walls 

And  snowy  summits  old  in  story: 
The  long  light  shakes  across  the  lakes 

And  the  wild  cataract  leaps  in  glory. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow,  set  the  wild  echoes  flying, 
Blow,  bugle;  answer,  echoes,  dying,  dying,  dying." 

The  whole  scene  is  pervaded  by  the  sunset  "splen- 
dor," giving  to  "castle  walls"  and  "snowy  summits" 
a  beauty  till  then  unknown;  the  "long"  rays  of  the 
descending  sun,  tremulous  in  the  evening  air  are  seen 
to  "shake  across  the  lakes,"  and  the  "wild  cataract" 
becomes  more  than  a  mere  waterfall, — it  "leaps  in 
glory."  Then  is  brought  out  that  effect,  familiar  to 
all  who  have  traveled  in  Alpine  regions,  of  the  echo 
repeated  over  and  over  and  over  again,  ever  fainter  as 
borne  from  farther  distance  till  strains  of  fairy  music 
seem  to  answer  each  other  from  height  to  height. 

"O  hark,  O  hear!  how  thin  and  clear 

And  thinner,  clearer,  farther  going! 
O  sweet  and  far  from  cliff  and  scar 

The  horns  of  Elfland  faintly  blowing! 
Blow,  let  us  hear  the  purple  glens  replying: 
Blow,  bugle;  answer,  echoes,  dying,  dying,  dying." 

From  the  New  World  let  us  choose  only  two  poetic 
gems,  each  so  true  a  classic  that  in  its  thoughtful  beauty 
and  majesty  it  rises  beyond  all  limitation  of  time  and 
place ;  and  first  Bryant 's  "To  a  Waterfowl ' ' : 

'Whither,  midst  falling  dew, 

While  glow  the  heavens  with  the  last  steps  of  day, 
Far,  through  their  rosy  depths,  dbst  thou  pursue 
Thy  solitary  way? 


THE    POWER   OP    ENGLISH  57 

"Vainly  the  fowler's  eye 

Might  mark  thy  distant  flight  to  do  thee  wrong, 
As,  darkly  limned  upon  the  crimson  sky, 
Thy  figure  floats  along. 


"There  is  a  Power  whose  care 
Teaches  thy  way  along  that  pathless  coast — 
The  desert  and  illimitable  air — 
Lone  wandering,  but  not  lost. 

"All  day  thy  wings  have  fanned, 
At  that  far  height,  the  cold,  thin  atmosphere, 
Yet  stoop  not,  weary,  to  the  welcome  land, 
Though  the  dark  night  is  near. 

"And  soon  that  toil  shall  end ; 
Soon  shalt  thou  find  a  summer  home,  and  rest, 
And  scream  among  thy  fellows;  reeds  shall  bend, 
Soon,  o'er  thy  sheltered  nest. 

"Thou'rt  gone,  the  abyss  of  heaven 
Hath  swallowed  up  thy  form;  yet  on  my  heart 
Deeply  hath  sunk  the  lesson  thou  hast  given, 
And  shall  not  soon  depart. 

"He  who.  from  zone  to  zone, 

Guides  through  the  boundless  sky  thy  certain  flight, 
In  the  long  way  that  I  must  tread  alone 
Will  lead  my  steps  aright." 

So  calmly  great,  so  perfect  in  finish,  yet,  withal  so 
simple,  the  picture  grows  in  clearness,  and  the  lesson 
in  impressiveness,  the  oftener  the  lines  are  read.  The 
" boundless  sky,"  with  its  vastness,  its  "rosy  depths, " 
the  ''desert  and  illimitable  air,"  the  "far  height,"  the 
"abyss  of  heaven,"  is  opened  before  the  mind,  and 
almost  visualized  to  the  eye. 

Then  conies  the  subjective  element,  the  human  inter- 


58  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

est, — like  that  which  glorified  in  Holy  Writ  the  "  lilies 
of  the  field,"  the  "fowls  of  the  air,"  and  the  falling 
"sparrow," — lifting  the  thought  to  that  wise,  mighty, 
and  beneficent  Power  on  which  each  human  soul  may 
depend,  to  "lead  my  steps  aright." 

Next  a  few  stanzas  of  Whittier,  of  which  the  final  one 
is  often  quoted  by  itself  alone,  though  it  will  be  seen  to 
gain  immeasurably  when  associated  with  its  context. 
The  lines  are  taken  from  that  poetic  confession  of  faith 
which  the  author  entitled  "The  Eternal  Goodness": 

"I  long  for  household  voices  gone, 

For  vanished  smiles  I  long, 
But  God  hath  led  my  dear  ones  on, 
And  He  can  do  no  wrong. 

"I  know  not  what  the  future  hath 

Of  marvel  or  surprise, 
Assured  alone  that  life  and  death 
His  mercy  underlies. 

"No  offering  of  my  own  I  have, 
No  works  my  faith  to  prove; 
I  can  but  give  the  gifts  He  gave, 
And  plead  His  love  for  love. 

"And  so  beside  the  Silent  Sea 

I  wait  the  muffled  oar; 
No  harm  from  Him  can  come  to  me 
On  ocean  or  on  shore. 

"I  know  not  where  His  islands  lift 

Their  fronded  palms  in  air; 
I  only  know  I  cannot  drift 
Beyond  His  love  and  care." 

From  the  abundant  store  of  oratorical  material,  let 
us  select  but  one  brief  example,  Chatham's  words  on 


THE    POWER   OF    ENGLISH  59 

"Justice  to  America,"  as  spoken  in  the  House  of  Lords, 
on  January  20,  1775 : 

A' 

"I  contend  not  for  indulgence,  but  for  justice,  to  America. 
.  .  .  The  spirit  that  now  resists  your  taxation  in  America 
is  the  same  which  formerly  opposed  loans,  benevolences,  and 
ship-money  in  England; — the  same  spirit  which  called  all 
England  on  its  legs,  and  by  the  Bill  of  Rights  vindicated 
the  English  Constitution;  the  same  spirit  which  established 
the  great  fundamental,  essential  maxim  of  your  liberties, 
that  no  subject  of  England  shall  be  taxed  but  by  his  own 
consent.  This  glorious  Whig  spirit  animates  three  millions 
in  America,  who  prefer  poverty  with  liberty  to  gilded  chains 
and  sordid  affluence;  and  who  will  die  in  defense  of  their 
rights  as  men,  as  freemen.  What  shall  oppose  this  spirit, 
aided  by  the  congenial  flame  glowing  in  the  breast  of  every 
Whig  in  England  ?  '  'Tis  liberty  to  liberty  engaged/  that 
they  will  defend  themselves,  their  families,  and  their  coun- 
try. In  this  great  cause  they  are  immovably  allied;  it  is 
the  alliance  of  God  and  nature — immutable,  eternal — fixed 
as  the  firmament  of  heaven.  .  .  .  This  wise  people  speak 
out.  They  do  not  hold  the  language  of  slaves.  They  do  not 
ask  you  to  repeal  your  laws  as  a  favor.  They  claim  it  as  a 
right — they  demand  it.  And  I  tell  you  the  acts  must  be 
repealed.  We  shall  be  forced  ultimately  to  retract.  Let  us 
retract  while  we  can,  not  when  we  must.  I  say  we  must 
necessarily  undo  these  violent,  oppressive  acts.  They  must 
be  repealed.  You  will  repeal  them.  I  pledge  myself  for  it 
that  you  will,  in  the  end,  repeal  them.*  I  stake  my  reputa- 
tion on  it.  I  will  consent  to  be  taken  for  an  idiot,  if  they 
are  not  finally  repealed.  Avoid,  then,  this  humiliating,  this 
disgraceful  necessity.  Every  motive  of  justice  and  of  policy, 
of  dignity  and  of  prudence,  urges  you  to  allay  the  ferment 
in  America  by  a  removal  of  your  troops  from  Boeton,  by  a 
repeal  of  your  acts  of  Parliament." 

Let  us  add  to  the  selections  given  a  single  one  illus- 


*  This  prediction  was  fulfilled  by  the  repeal  of  the  acts  three 
years  later;  when,  however,  it  had  become  too  late. 


60  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

trating  the  majestic  sweep  of  the  Elizabethan  English 
in  the  Authorized  Version  of  the  Scriptures : 
• 

"The  Lord  hath  his  way  in  the  whirlwind  and  in  the 
storm,  and  the  clouds  are  the  dust  of  his  feet. 

He  rebuketh  the  sea,  and  maketh  it  dry,  and  drieth  up  all 
the  rivers;  Bashan  languisheth,  and  Carmel,  and  the  flower 
of  Lebanon  languisheth. 

The  mountains  quake  at  him,  and  the  hills  melt,  and  the 
earth  is  burned  at  his  presence,  yea,  the  world,  and  all  that 
dwell  therein. 

Who  can  stand  before  his  indignation?  and  who  can  abide 
in  the  fierceness  of  his  anger?  his  fury  is  poured  out  like 
fire,  and  the  rocks  are  thrown  down  by  him. 

The  Lord  is  good,  a  stronghold  in  the  day  of  trouble;  and 
he  knoweth  them  that  trust  in  him." — Ndhum  i,  3-Y. 


Nor  may  we  overlook  the  grand  Christian  lyrics,  the 
hymns  of  the  ages.  It  is  true  that  many  devout  souls 
have  expressed  the  heart's  devotion  in  feeble  verse, 
whence  many  persons  have  a  vague  idea  that  all  re- 
ligious song  is  marked  by  literary  inferiority.  Take,  for 
a  single  example  to  the  contrary,  this  triumphant  hymn 
of  Dean  Henry  Alf ord,  learned  as  he  was  devout : 

"Ten  thousand  times  ten  thousand 

In  sparkling  raiment  bright 
The  armies  of  the  ransomed  saints 

Throng  up  the  steeps  of  light; 
*Tis  finished,  all  is  finished, 

Their  fight  with  death  and  sin; 
Fling  open  wide  the  golden  gates, 

And  let  the  victors  in. 

/ 
What  rush  of  hallelujahs 

Fills  all  the  earth  and  sky! 
What  ringing  of  a  thousand  harps 

Bespeaks  the  triumph  nigh ! 


THE   POWER   OF   ENGLISH  61 

O  day  for  which  creation 

And  all  its  tribes  were  made! 
O  joy,  for  all  its  former  woes 

A  thousandfold  repaid! 

Oh,  then  what  raptured  greetings 

On  Canaan's  happy  shore, 
What  knitting  severed  friendships  up, 

Where  partings  are  no  more!" 

There  is  true  poetry  in  such  hymns  as  Faber's 
"There's  a  wideness  in  God's  mercy  like  the  wideness 
of  the  sea;"  in  Newman's  "Lead,  Kindly  Light;"  in 
Addison's  "The  spacious  firmament  on  high,"  and  in 
many  another.  The  great  chants  and  anthems  of  the 
church  lay  a  solemn,  reverent  hush  upon  the  soul.  Many 
of  our  simplest  English  hymns  have  been  found  so  ex- 
pressive that  they  have  followed  the  path  of  English 
and  American  missions  all  around  the  globe,  and  been 
translated  into  all  the  languages  of  the  earth.  Creeds, 
indeed,  change;  theological  conceptions  change;  but  it 
is  narrow  and  petty  to  reject,  because  of  some  theological 
disagreement,  the  aspiring  trust  and  longing  expressed 
in  the  hymn  of  a  soul  that  mightily  believed.  We  need 
only  to  be  big  enough  to  draw  into  our  own  souls  the 
faith,  devotion,  love,  patience,  rapture,  triumph,  that 
breathe  in  the  noblest  and  sweetest  Christian  lyrics  of 
the  ages. 

As  you  read  a  great  poem,  oration,  drama,  history,  or 
essay,  the  bigness  of  life  grows  upon  you — the  majesty 
of  mighty  men  and  of  the  administration  of  nations, 
the  wonderful  power  of  human  affection  and  devotion, 
courage  and  resolve,  ambition  and  self-sacrifice.  You 
begin  to  translate  all  into  terms  of  the  present,  and  the 
present  grows  nobler  before  your  very  eyes ;  undreamed- 


62  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

of  possibilities  of  grandeur  rise  upon  your  thought ;  you 
are  more  because  you  have  felt  the  magic  power  of  grand 
and  beautiful  thought  embodied  in  a  noble,  flexible,  and 
richly  expressive  speech. 


CHAPTER   III 
THE   ENGLISH    TREASURY    OF   WORDS 

Critics  point  out  from  time  to  time  that  English  is  de- 
ficient in  the  power  of  composition  or  combination, — that 
is,  of  forming  compounds — possessed  by  some  other  lan- 
guages, notably  the  Greek,  Latin  and  German.  It  must 
be  admitted  that  in  modern  English  this  power  is  very 
limited.  English  compounds  rarely  include  more  than 
two,  or  at  most,  three  simple  words;  as  "bluefish", 
"daylight",  "goldenrod",  "schoolhouse",  "steam- 
boat", "sunbeam".  Many  of  our  compounds,  too,  are 
unstable  forms,  the  elements  spaced  off  from  each  other 
by  the  hyphen;  as  "printing-press",  "ready-to-wear", 
"steam-engine",  "up-to-date".  Words  of  the  latter 
class  vary  in  form  among  different  writers,  diction- 
aries, and  publishing  houses,  so  that  one  may  find 
"barebacked"  or  "bare-backed",  "fence-corner"  or 
"fence  corner",  "water-course"  or  "watercourse",  for 
instance, — according  to  the  judgment  or  taste  of  certain 
authors  or  publishers.  Moreover,  it  must  be  admitted, 
that  in  this  respect,  English  has  lost  a  power  it  once 
had;  for  the  Anglo-Saxon  freely  made  long  compounds 
from  native  words ;  as  unanbindendlicum  for  ' '  insepara- 
ble". For  the  disappearance  of  such  forms  we  have  to 
thank  the  coming  in  of  the  Norman-French  and  the 
Latin,  and  later  of  the  Greek,  from  which  sources  it  has 
long  been  the  English  custom  to  derive  all  extensive 
compounds,  instead  of  working  up  the  native  stock  for 
that  purpose. 

63 


64  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

The  German  has  retained  this  power  which  the  Eng- 
lish has  lost,  and  by  reason  of  the  strong  movement  of 
the  nineteenth  century  for  German  nationalism,  has  ex- 
tended and  intensified  it.  Such  words  as  Zerglieder- 
ungskunst  or  Zergliederungswissenschaft  (meaning 
"anatomy")  do  not  impress  the  German  mind  as  un- 
reasonably long  or  complicated.  So  strong  is  the  ten- 
dency of  their  language  to  such  agglutination  that  the 
telegraph  companies  of  Germany  have  been  compelled 
to  take  cognizance  of  it.  The  thrifty  German  people 
quickly  saw  its  possibilities  in  a  message  of  ten  words, 
and  found  themselves  able  to  include  a  considerable 
treatise  within  that  limit,  so  that  it  became  necessary 
to  restrict  the  length  of  one  word  to  sixteen  letters,  any 
combination  exceeding  that  number  to  be  counted  as 
two  or  more  words.  The  Greek  had  this  power  of  com- 
bination in  an  unsurpassed  degree.  For  the  Greeks  it 
was  a  necessity,  for  they  had  no  other  cultivated  lan- 
guage from  which  to  draw.  As  culture  and  science  ad- 
vanced among  them  they  could  only  meet  the  new 
demands  by  combining  the  materials  they  already  had, 
either  by  joining  entire  words  to  each  other  or  attach- 
ing to  existing  words  some  of  their  store  of  prefixes  and 
suffixes,  so  that  each  combination  should  have  the  effect 
of  a  new  word.  In  this  they  were  aided  by  the  remark- 
able pliability, — what  one  might  almost  call  the  fluidity 
of  their  language.  They  themselves  were  aware  of  a 
possible  tendency  to  excess  in  this,  and  their  comic  poet, 
Aristophanes,  amused  himself, — and  them — by  coining 
a  word  of  seventy-two  syllables! 

"Greek  has  the  advantage  of  combining1  with  extraordinary 
facility  into  pronounceable  compounds.  Its  consonants  and 
vowels  are  not  gathered  into  solid,  insoluble  lumps,  but  very 


ENGLISH    TREASURY   OF   WORDS          65 

evenly  distributed,   and  upon  a  page  are  almost  equal  in 
number.    This,  I  think,  is  the  foundation  of  its  excellence. 

"The  languages  of  northern  Europe  abound  in  undistrib- 
uted consonants — sirz,  ntzsch,  Idschm,  Jcrzyz.  Hence,  in 
combining  several  words  into  a  new  compound,  each  part 
is  apt  to  begin  and  end  with  consonants,  and  the  result  is 
such  a  word  as  Griindungsschwindeln  (Ger.  'fraudulent- 
establishment-of-a-business,'  etc.).  Compared  with  such  an 
unwieldy  Leviathan  the  longest  term  in  Greek  is  a  play- 
thing. Skorodopandokeutriartopolis  (Gr.  'a  garlic-bread- 
selling-hostess')  ripples  along  as  pleasantly  as  a  summer 
brook  on  a  pebbly  bed;  and  the  farrago  of  Aristophanes  that 
contains  169  letters,  moves  so  trippingly  on  the  tongue,  that 
one  might  dance  to  it." 

— RAMSEY,  "English  Language,  etc.,"  Chap.  II,  p.  32. 

Hence  for  all  extensive  compounds,  the  English,  lan- 
guage since  losing  the  power  to  make  such  for  itself,  has 
resorted  either  to  the  Latin  or  to  the  more  pliable  Greek ; 
not  to  mention  that  many  of  these  forms  which  we  de- 
rive from  the  Latin  had  come  to  that  language  through 
the  Greek.  Thus  we  have  the  familiar  word  "aristoc- 
racy" (from  the  Greek  aristos,  "best",  plus  krateo, 
"rule")  meaning  "government  by  the  best  (in  the  sense 
of  the  chief  or  leading)  citizens";  this  could  not  be 
translated  easily,  if  at  all,  by  any  combination  of  words 
from  the  Anglo-Saxon, — "best-rule",  or  "chief -rule" 
would  be  quite  impossible,  and  would  not  express  the 
meaning.  Even  if  we  could  tolerate  such  nouns,  we  still 
could  not  form  an  adjective  from  either,  as  "best- 
ruling"  or  "chief -ruling".  The  adjective  "aristo- 
cratic", however,  comes  ready-made  from  the  Greek,  is 
smooth  and  easy  in  sound,  and  has  a  definite  meaning 
which  every  one  in  the  English-speaking  world  under- 
stands ;  we  may,  if  we  prefer,  use  the  form  ' '  aristocrati- 
cal",  which  is  just  as  smooth  in  sound,  though  not  so 


66  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

brief.  Then,  for  an  individual,  we  have  the  noun 
"aristocrat",  to  designate  a  member  of  an  aristocracy, 
one  of  a  superior  or  would-be  superior  class.  In  like 
manner  we  have  "democracy"  (from  the  Greek  demos, 
"people",  plus  krateo,  "rule")  meaning  "government 
by  the  people",  which  we  could  not  well  express  by 
" people 's-rule"  or  any  other  native  compound;  and 
from  this  we  form  in  a  similar  way  "democratic"  or 
' '  democratical ' ',  and  for  an  individual,  the  noun  ' '  dem- 
ocrat". 

We  have  done  better  to  borrow.  It  is  almost  unneces- 
sary to  say  that  we  have  derived  still  more  from  the 
Latin  than  from  the  Greek, — words  of  Latin  derivation, 
often  through  the  French,  constituting  about  one-half 
the  number  in  our  dictionaries,  though  entering  in  much 
smaller  proportion  into  common  use  in  our  speaking  or 
writing.  The  words  so  derived  are  often  not  inferior  to 
those  from  the  Greek  in  ease  of  utterance  and  smooth- 
ness of  sound,  even  when  very  long;  as  "circumnavi- 
gate", "degeneration",  "immortality",  "infinitude", 
"infinitesimal",  "international",  "publication",  "rep- 
resentatives", "supernatural",  "supernumerary", 
* '  transsubstantiation ' '. 

It  is  worthy  of  notice,  in  connection  with  this  matter, 
that  while  we  derive  "democracy"  and  "democratic" 
from  the  Greek,  we  obtain  "republic"  and  "republi- 
can" from  the  Latin,  and  with  a  difference  in  sense.  The 
Greek  ideal  of.  "democracy", — the  people's  rule,  was 
that  where,  as  in  Athens,  all  the  citizens  came  together 
in  the  Agora  or  market-place,  and  voted  directly  on 
public  measures.  The  Roman  ideal  was  of  the  solidity 
of  the  State;  the  "republic"  was  the  res  publica, — "the 
public  welfare",  however  secured,  which  was  for  the 
most  part,  and  in  their  view  preferably,  through  repre- 


ENGLISH    TREASURY    OF   WORDS          67 

sentatives,  as  consuls,  tribunes,  etc.,  elected  by  and  act- 
ing for  the  people.  Hence  "  democracy "  is  a  system 
where  every  citizen  acts  directly  in  the  government, — a 
system  only  practicable  in  a  small  community,  as  in  the 
old  New  England  "town  meeting",  or  in  the  small  cities 
of  Greece,  where  each  city  was  a  separate  and  independ- 
ent state;  a  system  which  the  modern  "initiative  and 
referendum"  attempts  to  carry  out  on  a  larger  scale. 
A  "republic",  on  the  contrary,  is  a  system  where  the 
"public  welfare"  is  sought  through  the  action  of  repre- 
sentatives chosen  by,  and  supposed  to  act  for  the  people, 
— which  was  the  original  idea  of  the  constitution  of  the 
United  States  and  of  each  state  composing  the  nation 
from  the  beginning.  Some  of  the  most  difficult  prob- 
lems now  disturbing  the  American  people  arise  from 
the  conflict  or  attempted  adjustment  of  these  two  sys- 
tems. Is  our  government  to  be  a  republic  or  a  democ- 
racy, or  some  possible  combination  of  the  two?  There 
is  a  native  English  word,  "commonwealth",  which  al- 
most exactly  translates  the  Latin  "republic";  this  has 
historic  use,  for  the  governmental  system  of  England  in 
Cromwell's  day  was  called  a  "commonwealth"  and  the 
nation  was  officially  designated  as  the  Commonwealth 
of  England.  But  that  government,  which  was  at  first 
that  of  a  parliament  without  a  king,  degenerated  into  a 
military  despotism,  and  the  name  became  unpopular, 
though  in  the  oldest  of  the  New  England  states  the  gov- 
ernor still  closes  proclamations  with  the  words,  "God 
bless  the  Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts!"  Besides, 
this  word,  like  most  Anglo-Saxon  words,  is  more  broadly 
inclusive,  and  therefore  less  sharply  definite  than  the 
words  from  the  Greek  and  Latin;  a  despot  might  claim 
to  be  acting  for  the  commonwealth — the  public  welfare 
— but  scarcely  for  the  republic  or  the  democracy. 


€8 

It  is  to  be  added  that  our  borrowing  has  come  to  be 
largely  manufacture,  using  Greek  or  Latin  elements  to 
form  compounds  unknown  to  the  Greek  or  the  Latin 
language.  The  modern  barbarians  of  the  North  are 
treating  the  ancient  languages  as  the  barbarians  of  old 
treated  the  ancient  edifices.  Because  those  destroyers 
of  the  Roman  Empire  were  not  barbarous  enough  to  set 
men  to  slaughter  each  other  or  to  fight  with  wild  beasts 
in  the  arena  for  their  amusement,  they  had  no  use  for 
the  Coliseum  which  the  cultured  Romans  had  built  for 
those  gentle  pastimes,  but  viewed  it  as  a  most  serviceable 
quarry  of  ready-hewn  stone,  from  which  to  take  blocks 
at  will  for  building  their  own  palaces.  So  we  descend 
upon  the  ancient  classic  languages,  with  the  difference 
that  we  do  not  destroy  their  noble  monuments.  Homer 
and  Vergil,  Demosthenes  and  Cicero,  and  all  the  rest, 
remain  unharmed  after  we  have  done  our  best,  or  our 
worst,  with  their  original  tongues.  Scholars  can  read 
their  masterpieces  still,  while  we  quarry  the  languages 
to  build  new  words,  such  as  they  would  have  had  to 
build  if  they  had  lived  long  enough  and  been  inventive 
enough  to  know  as  much  as  we.  It  has  long  been  the 
accepted  custom  to  give  Greek  names  to  all  new  scien- 
tific discoveries  or  mechanical  inventions,  and  the  num- 
ber of  Greek  compounds  so  introduced  into  English  is 
enormous,  though  Latin  terms  and  elements  are  still  to 
some  extent  employed.  Our  scholars  have  learned  the 
trick  of  combining  Greek  or  Latin  elements  into  words 
describing  things  the  Greeks  or  Romans  never  imagined, 
and  the  words  so  formed  are  as  modern  and  brand-new 
as  the  discoveries  or  inventions  they  designate.  The 
familiar  words,  "telegraph",  "telegram",  "telephone", 
' '  phonograph ' ',  and  ' '  graphophone ' '  are  all  pure  Greek, 
but  all  of  English  manufacture,  as  the  Greeks  not  only 


ENGLISH    TREASURY   OF   WORDS          69 

never  had,  but  never  imagined,  the  things  these  words 
denote.  Sometimes  a  mechanic  who  is  not  a  scholar  gets 
hold  of  the  classics,  and  forges  Greek  and  Latin  to- 
gether into  a  single  term;  as  "audiphone"  or  "dieto- 
phone"  from  the  Latin  audio,  "hear",  or  dido, 
"speak",  combined  with  the  Greek  phone,  "sound". 
Sometimes  an  apprentice  gets  hold  of  the  classics  and 
produces  such  monstrosities  as  we  see  advertised,  con- 
taining the  word  oxogen,  which  is  unknown  either  to 
Greek  or  English.  (Anyone  desiring  a  clue  to  the  mean- 
ing will  please  look  up  "oxygen"  in  any  good  English 
dictionary.) 

The  new  art  of  flying,  as  at  length  made  possible  for 
man,  gives  many  interesting  combinations.  Man's  first 
device  was  to  attach  himself  to  an  inflated  gas-bag,  for 
which  a  name  was  obtained  from  the  Italian,  "balloon", 
from  the  ball-shape  which  such  a  bag  naturally  as- 
sumed. But  as  this  could  only  float  and  drift,  the  quest 
began  for  a  "balloon"  that  could  be  propelled,  and  thus 
steered  or  directed,  for  which  was  adopted  the  adjec- 
tive "dirigible"  from  the  Latin  dirigo,  "direct",  and 
we  had  the  "dirigible  balloon,"  the  name  of  which  is 
now  often  contracted  by  making  the  adjective  a  noun 
and  calling  the  conveyance  "a  dirigible".  For  the  per- 
son who  navigates  the  air  we  went  to  the  Greek  and 
formed  the  word  "aeronaut",  from  aer,  "air",  and 
nautes,  "sailor",  whence  we  have  formed  the  adjective 
"aeronautic"  and  the  noun  "aeronautics"  for  the  art 
of  air-navigation.  In  the  latter  part  of  the  nineteenth 
century  studious  men  like  the  Duke  of  Argyle  and  Pro- 
fessor Langley,  of  the  Smithsonian  Institution,  gave  prac- 
tical emphasis  to  the  fact  that  every  bird  is  heavier  than 
air, — a  fact  that  must  have  been  always  known,  since  a 
bird  that  is  shot,  at  once  falls  to  the  ground,  its  power 


70  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

to  sustain  itself  in  air  being  due,  not  to  its  lightness, 
but  to  its  propulsive  motion.  Then  the  study  came  to 
be  to  enable  man  to  fly  as  the  bird  flies,  sustained  only 
by  motion,  and  from  the  Latin  avis,  "a  bird",  we 
formed  "aviation"  and  "aviator".  Naturally,  "aero- 
naut" is  applied  to  one  who  sails  in  a  balloon,  or  the 
like,  and  "aviator"  to  one  who  flies  like  a  bird,  in  a 
"  heavier-than-air "  machine.  Since  such  a  machine  is 
sustained  by  planes,  we  have  devised  for  the  form  with 
two  planes  the  all  Latin  term  ' '  biplane ' '  from  the  Latin 
bi.  "two",  and  planus,  "flat,  level";  while  the  form 
with  one  plane  is  designated  by  the  hybrid  word  ' '  mono- 
plane ' ',  from  the  Greek  monos,  ' '  alone,  single ' ',  plus  the 
Latin  planus.  In  pure  English  we  have  "air-ship", 
"air-plane",  and  "flying-machine",  which  are  good 
general  terms,  but  not  closely  descriptive,  "air-ship" 
being  commonly  applied  to  the  dirigible  balloon,  and 
"flying-machine"  to  some  conveyance  of  the  monoplane 
or  biplane  class. 

In  fact  it  is  part  of  the  absorptive  power  of  English, 
when  it  has  once  adopted  an  element  from  another  lan- 
guage, to  fling  etymology  to  the  winds,  and  use  that 
word  or  element  as  a  native  word  or  formative.  Thus 
we  have  made  the  Greek  prefix  anti,  "against",  so  thor- 
oughly our  own  that  we  attach  it  to  any  word  whatever, 
without  a  thought  of  the  source  from  which  that  other 
word  is  derived;  we  join  it  with  French  derivatives, 
forming  "antimason",  "antirent",  and  many  others; 
with  Latin  derivatives,  forming  "  antiprohibition ", 
"  antirepublican ",  "antislavery",  "antisuffrage",  "an- 
tisuffragist",  " antisuff ragette ",  etc.;  or  with  plain 
Anglo-Saxon  words,  forming  "antiburgher",  "anti- 
fat",  "antitrade",  and  the  like.  We  even  make  the  pre- 
fix an  independent  noun,  and  apply  it  to  the  opponents 


ENGLISH    TREASURY   OF   WORDS          71 

of  some  well-known  policy;  as  "an  anti",  or  "the 
antis".  The  dictionaries  insist  that  this  noun-use  is 
colloquial,  but  the  fact  that  it  is  colloquial  shows  the 
popular  sense  of  complete  proprietorship  of  this  ancient 
Greek  preposition  as  an  integral  part  of  English  speech. 
So  we  join  the  Latin  prefix  ante  "before",  with  an 
English  noun,  forming  "anteroom",  or  with  a  Greek 
noun,  forming  "  antestomach ".  To  the  Latin  prefix 
inter,  "between",  we  add  Anglo-Saxon  verbs  to  form 
"interknit",  "interweave",  "interwoven",  etc.  From 
the  Latin  pro,  "for",  and  contra,  "against",  we  have 
the  established  English  phrase,  "the  pros  and  cons", 
denoting  arguments  for  and  against.  The  Latin  re, 
"back,  again,  over  again",  is  joined  with  plain  Anglo- 
Saxon  forms,  making  "refit",  "renew",  "resell",  "re- 
sold", "retell",  "retold",  and  numeroi^jf  other  familiar 
compounds.  The  Latin  sub,  "under",  freely  unites  with 
any  Anglo-Saxon  element,  forming  such  words  as  ' '  sub- 
kingdom",  "sublet",  "subway",  "subworker".  Sim- 
ilar words  are  popularly  formed  at  will ;  as  "  revamp ' ', 
' '  subbasement ",  "subcellar",  etc. 

Common  usage  makes  some  feeble  attempts  to  classify 
forms  according  to  derivation ;  as  to  restrict  the  use  of 
in,  "not",  to  words  of  Latin,  and  of  un,  "not",  to  those 
of  Anglo-Saxon  origin.  But  un  long  ago  overflowed  all 
banks  and  dams,  and  may  now  be  found  combined  with 
words  from  the  most  various  sources.  We  have  "incon- 
testable", but  " uncontested " ;  "inconceivable",  but 
"unimagined";  "indeterminable",  but  "undeter- 
mined"; "imperceptible",  but  " unperceived ".  Thou- 
sands of  instances  might  be  given  of  incongruous  ele- 
ments combined  without  the  slightest  reference  to  their 
original  sources  to  form  English  words,  and  in  the  ma- 
jority of  instances  it  must  be  admitted  that  they  easily 


72  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

work  together.  Some  have  been  so  long  in  the  language 
that  they  could  not  now  be  eradicated  by  any  critical 
force.  New  ones  of  the  same  kind  are  at  once  condemned 
as  monstrosities,  and  compelled  to  fight  their  way.  It  is 
well  that  they  should  be.  Let  them  win  their  spurs. 
But  if  they  meet  a  real  popular  demand,  nothing  can 
keep  them  out  of  the  language.  Probably  nothing  could 
now  stop  the  use  of  the  word  "monoplane",  unless  the 
machine  itself  should  become  obsolete.  Commercial 
standing  is  stronger  than  scholarly  criticism.  Just  now 
the  most  disputed  word  is  "cablegram",  which  is  philo- 
logically  an  abomination,  being  made  from  the  French- 
English  word  cable  plus  the  Greek  gram,  clipped 
from  the  end  of  ' '  telegram ' '  or  the  like.  But  if  the  de- 
mand of  the  market  is  strong  enough,  ' '  cablegram ' '  will 
come  in,  and  scholars  will  be  compelled  to  swallow  it, 
however  hard  it  may  go  down.  At  present  the  tendency 
seems  to  be  to  settle  the  matter  by  apocopation,  using 
the  brief  noun  "cable"  for  the  message,  as  well  as  for 
the  conductor;  as  "He  sent  me  a  cable  from  Paris". 
Criticism  is  the  Ellis  Island  of  word-immigrants,  where 
a  board  of  scholars  pass  upon  their  claims.  If  rejected 
by  the  board,  they  still  have  a  special  privilege  of  ap- 
peal to  a  plebiscite  of  all  English-speaking  people,  and, 
if  accepted  there,  they  may  enter  in  spite  of  the  exam- 
ining board ;  otherwise  they  are  deported. 

With  its  readiness  to  adopt  elements  or  entire  words 
from  outside  sources,  English  has  now  become  very  in- 
tolerant of  long  home-made  forms.  It  has  compared 
them  with  the  mere  elegant  forms  from  ancient  classic 
sources,  and  has  found  them  clumsy.  It  does  not  like 
them.  This  is  partly  due,  also,  to  the  extremely  practi- 
cal character  of  the  English-speaking  peoples.  How 
eaiily  a  German  may  separate  the  portions  of  a  long 


ENGLISH    TREASURY   OF   WORDS          73 

compound  we,  of  course,  can  not  adequately  judge ;  but 
to  us  it  seems  that  this  must  require  a  distinct  mental 
exertion,  which  we,  as  labor-saving  people,  are  unwill- 
ing to  burden  ourselves  with,  when  we  can  so  easily 
avoid  it.  We  could  write  ' '  the  webperf  ectingnewspaper- 
printingpress ",  but  to  us  this  seems  ungainly,  and  it 
takes  us  longer  to  read  it.  We  read  much  more  readily 
"the  web  perfecting  newspaper-printing-press",  and 
even  when  we  connect  some  of  the  words  by  hyphens, 
the  hyphen  marks  the  joints  to  the  eye,  so  that  we  need 
not  hesitate  an  infinitesimal  fraction  of  a  second.  We 
instantly  join  the  thoughts  of  the  associated  words  into 
one  mental  whole,  and  find  mental  fusion  quicker  and 
easier  than  typographical  confusion. 

English-speaking  people  are  always  inclined  to  laugh 
at  a  long  string  of  words  run  together  without  a  break. 
A  foreign  compound  of  this  character  was  recently 
treated  jocosely  in  a  New  York  newspaper,  evoking 
from  an  aggrieved  native  the  following  rejoinder: 

To  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE  EVENING  SUN: 

Sir:  I  can  see  nothing  funny  in  the  name  Dampskibsak- 
tieselskabet.  .  .  .  It  is  a  Danish  compound  noun,  writ- 
ten without  hyphens,  as  is  the  Danish  custom.  The  German 
equivalent  is  Dampfschiffsaktiengesellschaft.  Damp  means 
"steam";  skibs,  "ship";  aktie,  means  "issuing  stock";  selskab 
means  "company"  and  et  is  a  suffix  used  as  the  definite 
article,  "the."  The  whole  name  means  "The  Steamship 
Stock  Company,"  which  is  not  funny  at  all. 

And  after  reading  this  sober  explanation,  the  whole 
thing  seems  to  the  English-speaking  man  funnier  than 
ever.  Seriously,  the  whole  explanation  above  given 
must  be  gone  through,  however  swiftly,  by  the  Dane  or 
the  German  in  order  to  make  the  idea  of  either  com- 
pound clear  to  his  own  mind.  We,  too,  could  write 


74 

"  Thesteamshipstockcompany ",  but  should  feel  our- 
selves encumbered  by  so  doing,  and  we  find  ' '  The  steam- 
ship stock  company"  vastly  more  perspicuous,  and  con- 
veying to  our  minds  a  more  truly  instantaneous  idea. 

With  lack  of  the  facility  of  compounding  possessed 
by  the  Greek,  German,  Danish,  or  other  languages, 
English  has  something  better, — an  incomparable  facil- 
ity of  assimilation.  It  appropriates  words  from  all 
lands  and  ages,  as  the  human  body  takes  into  its  own 
substance  foods  from  every  realm  and  clime.  Rarely 
do  we  think  where  the  viands  come  from,  so  long  as 
they  taste  good.  We  feel  no  need  to  raise  oranges, 
bananas,  or  spices  in  our  own  hothouses.  We  will  let 
them  grow  where  they  are  naturally  produced,  and  then 
send  out  our  ships  and  bring  them  in  when  we  want 
them, — if  we  want  them. 

What  our  language  takes  it  transforms.  There  is  no 
patching  nor  pasting  on.  The  process  is  like  that  of  the 
physical  organism,  which  transmutes  all  appropriated 
food  into  blood  and  muscle,  flesh  and  bone,  making  it  its 
very  own.  Every  foreign  applicant  for  admission  must 
be  naturalized,  and  put  on  the  English  dress,  before  it 
can  be  free  of  the  English  republic  of  words.  Untrans- 
formed  words  stand  timidly  on  the  threshold  of  our 
speech,  coming  in  when  invited,  hat  in  hand,  and  with 
apologetic  mien.  The  pronunciation  of  the  French  word 
ennui  must  be  learned  by  main  force,  and  when  that  is 
done,  it  is  hardly  worth  while,  for  we  have  no  time  nor 
disposition  for  the  thing.  Most  of  us  think  we  can  say 
menu,  though  very  few  of  us  can,  and  one  who  should 
utter  it  with  the  true  French  accent  would  make  him- 
self slightly  peculiar  by  his  precision;  the  word  is  so 
far  Anglicized  that  it  passes  current  with  a  half-French 
pronunciation ;  it  is  still  so  much  of  a  stranger  as  to  ap- 


ENGLISH    TREASURY   OF   WORDS          75 

pear  only  at  the  full-dress  dinner  where  even  the  con- 
versation becomes  swallow-tailed;  on  ordinary  occasions 
we  are  much  more  at  home  with  a  "bill  of  fare". 
" Entente"  is  another  French  word  that  for  us  is  prac- 
tically unpronounceable ;  we  may  have  to  use  it  to  dis- 
tinguish the  Triple  Entente  of  European  powers  from 
the  Triple  Alliance;  but  when  entente  is  merely  a  gen- 
eral term  for  mutual  understanding  or  agreement,  the 
plain  English  word  ''understanding"  or  "agreement" 
is  far  preferable.  An  English  paper  remarks  that 
"when  an  Englishman  does  get  a  French  word  or 
phrase,  he  immediately  thinks  it  his  own",  and  relates 
that  when  French  and  English  sailors  were  fraternizing 
in  recent  maneuvers,  an  English  tar  turned  to  the 
Frenchman  he  was  entertaining,  with  the  question, 
"Say,  Frenchy,  what's  the  blooming  French  for  'en'tent 
cor'dial'?"  The  French  word  debacle  has  long  been 
recognized  as  English  by  the  dictionaries, — which  is 
well,  because  when  we  read  in  the  account  of  some  ca- 
tastrophe of  war  that  the  "retreat  became  a  debacle,"  it 
is  convenient  to  go  to  the  dictionary  to  learn  that 
debacle  in  such  use  is  practically  equivalent  to  the  fa- 
miliar English  word  "rout".  So  long  as  a  word  re- 
tains a  distinctly  foreign  type,  it  is  used  only  apologeti- 
cally or  playfully  by  real  men  and  women.  It  is  well 
for  a  young  writer  always  to  avoid  a  foreign  word  or 
phrase  for  which  he  can  find  a  good  English  equivalent. 
Do  not  say  or  write  coup  d'cBil  when  what  you  mean 
could  be  expressed  by  the  single  English  word  "glance", 
or  possibly  by  the  phrase  "a  sudden  glance". 

But  of  foreign  words  touched  by  the  magic  wand  of 
English  transformation,  there  are  thousands  upon  thou- 
sands which  we  use  without  a  thought  that  they  are 
not  native  to  the  soil.  Professor  Marsh  remarks: 


76  EXPRESSIVE   ENGLISH 

"The  Anglo-Saxon  tongue  has  a  craving  appetite,  and 
is  as  rapacious  of  words  and  as  tolerant  of  forms  as  are  its 
children  of  territory  and  religions.  .  .  .  The  multi- 
farious etymology  of  our  Babylonish  dialect,  and  the  com- 
posite structure  of  our  syntax  are  peculiarities  of  the  Eng- 
lish tongue  not  shared  in  equal  degree  by  any  European 
speech  known  in  literature." 

This  would  seem  to  be  a  natural  result  of  the  historic 
evolution  of  English  speech.  From  the  Anglo-Saxon 
conquest,  through  nearly  fifteen  hundred  years,  not 
one  language  or  dialect  planted  on  British  soil  has  ever 
been  allowed  to  attain  completion  by  the  development 
of  its  own  inherent  resources.  Each  has  been  compelled 
to  fight  its  way,  and  to  hold  what  at  last  it  held  as  the 
result  of  concession  and  compromise,  supplying  its  own 
deficiencies,  not  by  internal  development,  but  by  free 
borrowing  or  unwilling  acceptance  of  supplies  from 
some  contesting  language.  Especially  was  this  the  case 
after  so  large  a  part  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  speech  perished 
in  the  two  centuries  following  the  Norman  conquest, 
when  the  Saxons  supplied  the  lack  by  wholesale  appro- 
priation of  words  from  the  language  of  their  conquer- 
ors, reshaped  into  conformity  with  their  own.  From 
that  time  on,  when  a  word  was  wanted,  nothing  seemed 
so  natural  as  to  take  it  from  some  source  where  it  might 
be  found  existing.  This  has  long  been  the  settled  habit 
of  the  English  language,  and  has  become  so  much  a  mat- 
ter of  course  as  seldom  to  excite  remark.  The  language 
has  gone  on  advancing,  gathering  into  itself  from  every 
source  words  to  express  all  the  advance  of  discovery 
and  science,  until  its  words  already  number  more  than 
400,000,  and  still  there  is  no  limit  in  sight.  If  there 
shall  be  found  to-morrow  in  any  language  a  good  word 
that  we  have  not  for  any  idea  we  care  to  express,  we 


ENGLISH    TREASURY   OF   WORDS          77 

shall  not  be  downcast  over  our  own  lack  of  originality, 
but  shall  exult  in  our  new  range  of  discovery;  we  will 
instantly  adopt  that  word,  and  be  so  much  the  richer. 
Wherever  any  people  has  invented  or  shall  invent  any 
word  for  anything  that  we  care  to  name,  that  word  is 
ours  for  the  taking. 

In  this  is  a  marvelous  advantage.  Instead  of  pain- 
fully piling  home-grown  syllables  upon  each  other  or 
jamming  words  together  under  hydraulic  pressure  of 
thought,  we  may  simply  reach  out  and  raid  the  universe 
of  speech,  and  our  captures  from  all  ages  and  nations 
settle  peacefully  side  by  side,  while  English  rejoices  in 
the  garnered  riches  of  the  past  and  present  of  all  the 
world.  Some  objector  may  say,  ''You  are,  in  very  deed, 
the  lineal  descendants  of  the  Saxon  and  Norman  pirates 
of  the  North  Sea,  actually  delighting  in  triumphant 
linguistic  piracy".  Call  it  so,  if  you  will.  We  are  not 
worried.  We  accept  Dry  den's  defense  in  his  "Discourse 
of  Epick  Poetry",  in  reply  to  the  charge  that  he  "Latin- 
ized too  much": 

"It  is  true  that  when  I  find  an  English  word  significant 
and  sounding,  I  neither  borrow  from  the  Latin  nor  any 
other  language;  but  when  I  want  at  home  I  must  seek 
abroad.  If  sounding  words  are  not  of  our  growth  and  manu- 
facture, who  shall  hinder  me  to  import  them  from  a  foreign 
country?  I  carry  not  out  the  treasure  of  the  nation  which 
is  never  to  return;  but  what  I  bring  from  Italy  I  spend  in 
England;  here  it  remains,  and  here  it  circulates;  if  the 
coin  be  good,  it  will  pass  from  one  hand  to  another.  I 
trade  both  with  the  living  and  the  dead  for  the  enrichment 
of  our  native  language.  We  have  enough  in  England  to 
supply  our  necessity;  but  if  we  will  have  things  of  magnifi- 
cence and  splendor,  we  must  get  tbem  by  commerce.  .  .  . 
Therefore,  if  I  find  a  word  in  a  classic  author,  I  propose 
it  to  be  naturalized  by  using  it  myself,  and  if  tbe  public 
approve  of  it  the  bill  passes." 


78  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

We  rob  no  one.  The  words  we  take  we  leave  still  ex- 
isting in  their  native  speech,  while  we  give  them  a  wider 
range,  and  often  uplift  them  into  grander  companion- 
ship. We  are  horticulturists,  rather  than  pirates,  set- 
ting choice  scions  from  all  far  lands  in  our  native  speech 
and  gladdening  new  lands  and  generations  with  their 
fruits.  By  all  this  we  have  gained  more  than  we  have 
lost.  We  can  well  afford  to  give  up  the  power  of  com- 
bination for  the  greater  power  of  limitless  appropria- 
tion. The  resources  of  the  English  vocabulary  are  to 
be  measured  only  by  the  riches  of  all  the  languages  of 
the  nations. 


CHAPTER   IV 
A    WORLD-LITERATURE    IN    ENGLISH 

Words,  indeed,  we  shall  be  told,  are  only  the  means 
of  expressing  thought,  the  currency  by  which  mental 
wealth  is  passed  from  mind  to  mind.  However  rich  its 
vocabulary,  what  has  English  to  offer  in  stores  of 
thought  itself?  Of  its  rich  literature  something  has 
already  been  said.  "But,"  urges  the  objector,  "when 
you  have  told  the  utmost  of  the  excellence  of  its  litera- 
ture, English  is  still  a  very  limited  language.  It  has 
not  the  poetry,  philosophy,  history,  or  oratory  of  Greece 
and  Eome,  the  deep  reasoning  and  mystic  contempla- 
tion of  the  Orient,  the  literary  treasures  of  France,  Ger- 
many, Italy,  and  Spain,  nor  the  newly  awakened  thought 
of  Eussia,  Denmark,  Sweden,  and  Norway.  English 
may  do  very  well  for  those  who  can  not  have  more.  But 
it  is,  after  all,  exceedingly  modern,  and  off  at  one  side 
of  the  world.  Much  of  the  world's  best  thought  is  inac- 
cessible in  English." 

On  the  contrary,  nothing  is  more  remarkable  in  Eng- 
lish than  its  greediness  in  translation.  Just  as  English 
and  American  explorers,  travelers,  merchants,  mission- 
aries, and  conquerors  have  been  driven  on  by  the  pas- 
sion of  exploration  and  discovery  to  sail  every  strip  of 
water  where  a  ship  could  float,  and  to  tread  every  land 
where  there  is  room  for  man  to  set  his  foot,  so  their 
eager  scholars  have  gone  out  into  every  field  of  human 
thought,  ancient  or  modern,  of  all  the  world,  and  as 
soon  as  they  have  mastered  any  worthy  writing  of  any 

79 


80 

age  or  clime,  have  been  unable  to  rest  in  their  own 
achievement,  but  have  been  impelled  by  a  consuming: 
passion  to  render  whatever  they  have  found  of  value 
into  English.  Just  as  their  discoverers  plant  on  any 
new  shore  the  British  or  the  American  flag,  so  every 
master  of  any  piece  of  foreign  work  or  of  ancient  his- 
tory or  scholarship  promptly  raises  over  it  the  standard 
of  the  English  speech.  Their  patriotism  is  racial  or 
linguistic;  the  English  language  is  their  fatherland  of 
thought.  They  are  harking  back  to  the  beloved  and 
honored  millions  who  can  not  read  the  hieroglyphics  or 
the  papyrus,  the  Greek,  Latin,  Persian,  or  Sanskrit,  the 
Italian,  Spanish,  French,  German  or  Russian,  and  for 
their  sake  they  are  determined,  that,  if  the  thing  is 
really  good,  not  a  moment  shall  be  lost  in  annexing  it 
to  the  English-speaking  domain.  Their  linguistic  patri- 
otism is  aided  by  the  widespread  popular  education  in 
the  English-speaking  lands  that  insures  a  great  reading 
public  ready  to  welcome  and  applaud  any  new  contri- 
bution to  the  sum  of  human  thought;  and  so  strong  is 
the  home-loving  instinct  of  the  race  that  the  applause 
and  appreciation  of  that  home  public  are  dearer  to  the 
heart  than  the  praise  of  all  the  world  besides. 

It  is  true,  there  is  a  superstition  against  translations, 
and,  like  all  other  superstitions,  this  has  behind  it  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  truth.  The  universities  have  done  much 
to  foster  it.  There  is  no  wonder  that  a  professor  who  is 
an  accomplished  scholar  in  Greek  or  Latin,  French,  Ger- 
man, or  Italian  should  look  with  aversion  or  even  with 
contempt  upon  any  translation  of  the  works  he  reads 
with  delight  in  the  original.  To  him  the  best  version 
seems  hard,  stiff,  and  wooden.  The  students  catch  his 
feeling,  which  in  them  becomes  the  conceit  that  they 
will  not  be  wise  by  translations,  when  they  can  not  be 


WORLD-LITERATURE    IN    ENGLISH         81 

otherwise.  For,  with  the  exception  of  some  who  are 
specializing  in  some  foreign  language,  few  of  them  can 
read,  and  practically  none  of  them  do  read,  any  foreign 
work  outside  the  classroom.  "What  do  you  think  of 
Plato's  'Phsedo'?"  Fine  thing,  no  doubt.  Haven't 
read  it.  It's  not  in  our  course."  "But  you  can  get  it 
in  English."  "Oh,  translations  are  such  wretched 
things!"  "Why  not  read  it  in  the  original?" 
' '  Haven 't  time.  Takes  too  long  to  bone  out  the  Greek. ' ' 
So  you  may  go  down  the  line  of  the  world's  best  litera- 
ture in  the  dead  or  foreign  languages,  and  you  will  find 
that — always  with  the  exception  of  the  studious  few — 
students  go  through  the  precious  four  years  of  learned 
leisure  without  reading  a  page  of  any  of  those  great 
works  beyond  what  are  formally  included  in  the  cur- 
riculum. And  after  graduation?  Then  you  may  be 
very  sure  you  will  not ' '  catch  them ' '  meddling  with  any 
such  materials.  Then  it  is  often  true  that  they  liter- 
ally "have  not  time."  This  condition  of  things  should 
somehow  be  bettered. 

Beyond  question  there  is  much  in  any  vivid  or  vigor- 
ous work  in  one  language  that  can  not  be  carried  over 
into  another,  any  more  than  the  perfume  of  a  flower 
can  be  transferred  to  the  most  exquisite  painting. 
Hence,  every  translation  must  be,  to  some  degree,  im- 
perfect. In  numberless  instances  a  word  of  one  lan- 
guage does  not  exactly  overlap  its  nearest  equivalent  in 
another.  The  word  the  translator  must  use  in  his  ver- 
sioji  may  be  stronger  or  weaker  than  the  corresponding 
word  in  the  original,  causing  nis  rendering  to  seem 
either  violent  or  feeble.  The  word  in  the  original  may 
be  picturesque,  and  the  corresponding  word  in  the  new 
language  prosaic,  or  in  some  other  way  there  may  be 
lack  of  fitness.  It  is  often  as  if  a  workman  had  to  build 


82  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

a  wall  with  bricks  of  different  measure,  and  here  and 
there  to  fit  in  a  piece  of  flat  or  curved  tile ;  it  may  take 
much  extraneous  mortar  to  cover  the  joining.  The 
"local  color," — the  characteristics  of  place  and  period 
— is,  for  the  most  part,  non-transferable.  We  can  not 
translate  Homer  into  English  without  loss,  nor  could 
we  render  Shakespeare  into  Greek  without  loss — and 
probably  greater  loss.  English  can  not  adequately 
translate  Dante's  Italian,  because  England  never  had 
the  experience  of  Dante's  Italy.  The  deadly  feuds  and 
battles,  the  hostile  fortifications  of  private  individuals 
within  a  civilized  city,  are  foreign  to  our  thought.  We 
look  with  amazement  to-day  upon  the  medieval  Italian 
palaces,  with  their  narrow,  grated  windows  opening  on 
the  street,  and  their  curved  rows  of  spikes  aloft  on  the 
corners  to  hold  the  heads  of  enemies  slaughtered  in  pri- 
vate war.  The  Wars  of  the  Roses  are  not  a  parallel, 
for,  however  personal  the  strife,  all  the  individuals  of 
each  faction  claimed  to  be  fighting  England's  battles. 
AVe  can  scarcely  conceive  of  cities  conducting  formal 
"war"  against  other  cities  a  dozen  miles  away.  English 
cities  have  many  times  been  in  conflict,  but  only  as  cen- 
ters of  some  greater  struggle,  as  when  Charles  I  had 
his  headquarters  at  Oxford  and  the  Parliamentary 
army  in  London.  The  war,  however,  was  not  between 
Oxford  and  London,  but  between  the  king  and  the  par- 
liament of  all  England.  Above  all,  England  has  never 
known  a  state  of  hopeless  and  chronic  subjugation  by 
any  endless  succession  of  conquerors,  so  that  the  only 
question  of  the  common  people  could  be  what  new 
master  they  should  be  compelled  to  obey,  or  when,  or 
for  how  long.  England  has  occasionally  had  mercen- 
ary soldiers,  ready  to  serve  upon  any  side  in  any  cause 
for  pay,  and  for  whom  she  must  borrow  the  Italian 


WORLD-LITERATURE    IN    ENGLISH         83 

name  of  condottieri.  On  the  other  hand,  England  has 
never  had  the  sunny  climate  and  the  beautiful  land, 
' '  the  fatal  dower  of  beauty, ' '  the  music,  the  art,  nor  the 
ancient  civilization  of  Italy.  Hence,  Italian  words  and 
forms  of  speech  often  carry,  deep  embedded  in  their 
substance,  a  something  which  English  forms  can  not 
fully  render.  Doubtless  the  Italian  would  find  itself 
seriously  limited  in  the  attempt  to  express  the  soaring, 
expansive  freedom  of  Milton's  verse.  The  same  is  sub- 
stantially true  of  any  two  languages  of  any  period. 
Neither  can  exactly  fit  into  the  mold  of  the  other. 

The  case  is  worst  in  poetry,  because  there,  if  the  trans- 
lator attempts  to  translate  into  English  verse,  he  is 
hampered  by  necessities  of  rime  or  meter,  or  both. 
Often  he  must  sacrifice  the  though^  of  the  original  in 
order  to  get  an  English  verse  that  can  at  all  be  read. 
There  are  foreign  meters  that  the  English  language 
simply  will  not  adopt.  They  are  too  foreign  to  its  type 
ever  to  become  popular.  There  is  the  hexameter  of  the 
Greek  and  Latin  poets, — the  six-foot  verse  of  the  Iliad 
and  Odyssey  and  of  Vergil's  JEneid.  That  this  can  be 
made  poetic  in  English,  Longfellow  and  Bryant  nave 
demonstrated.  But  it  remains  true  that  the  English 
language  does  not  take  kindly  to  it.  Take  the  first  line 
of  Longfellow's  beautiful  ' ' Evangeline, " 

"In  the  Acadian  land,  on  the  shores  of  the  Basin  of  Minas." 

This  is  musical,  but  the  movement  is  slow.  There  are 
in  the  line  12  words  and  17  syllables,  which  would  suf- 
fice for  a  tolerably  long  English  sentence.  Thus,  the 
sentence,  "I  will  not  be  cheated  out  of  my  inheritance 
by  such  base  methods, ' '  contains  12  words  and  17  sylla- 
bles, and  makes  a  complete  and  somewhat  extended 
statement ;  but  in  Longfellow 's  line  of  the  same  number 


84  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

of  words  and  syllables  we  have  only  the  introductory 
clause  of  a  still  incomplete  sentence,  which  it  requires 
a  line  and  a  half  more  to  finish.  English  words  are  so 
largely  monosyllabic  or  dissyllabic  that  the  hexameter 
line  holds  too  many,  and  the  verse  seems  heavy.  If  any- 
thing sudden,  impetuous,  or  thrilling,  is  to  be  told,  the 
action  seems  impeded  by  the  verse.  It  will  answer  for 
a  contemplative,  descriptive  poem  like  the  "Evangel- 
ine,"  though  even  there  the  excitement  of  the  captured 
men  in  the  church  and  the  sudden  partings  and  em- 
barkation at  the  seashore  lack  vividness,  because  the 
verse  lingers  in  the  telling.  Vivid  or  vigorous  action 
demands  in  English  a  shorter  measure.  Hence,  the  five- 
foot  line,  with  two  syllables  in  each  foot,  and  the  accent 
thrown  forward  to  the  second  of  each  two  syllables — the 
Iambic  pentameter — is  the  favorite  English  heroic  verse,, 
the  meter  of  Milton 's  ' '  Paradise  Lost ' ' ;  as, 

So  started  up  in  his  true  shape  the  fiend ; 

Back  stepped  those  two  fair  angels,  half  amazed. 

Pope  cast  aside  all  trammels  of  the  original,  adopted 
the  five-foot  rimed  heroic  verse,  and  sacrificed  the  Greek 
where  necessary  to  make  stirring  and  readable  English 
poems.  He  did  what  he  undertook  to  do,  producing  a 
translation  of  which  it  has  been  said,  "It  is  magnificent, 
but  it  is  not  Homer."  Yet  Pope  does  tell  the  essential 
story,  and  his  are  the  most  popular  of  all  translations 
of  the  Homeric  poems. 

Such  are  some  of  the  difficulties  that  beset  poetic 
translation.  The  tendency  now  is  to  prefer  the  best 
literal  prose  translations  of  the  Homeric  poems,  as  those 
of  Lang  and  Leaf,  where,  with  no  limitations  of  rime  or 
meter,  the  story  and  the  illustrations  and  descriptions 
are  accurately  and  often  beautifully  given.  It  is  not  to 


WORLD-LITERATURE    IN    ENGLISH        85 

be  expected  that  a  thorough  Greek  scholar  will  be  satis- 
fied with  either. 

But  what  are  the  rest  of  us  to  do?  How  many  lan- 
guages can  we  know  well  enough  for  enjoyable  reading? 
It  is  not  a  question  of  smattering.  Rapidity  is  impor- 
tant if  one  is  to  read  more  than  a  very  few  books, — if  he 
is  to  have  freedom,  range,  and  outlook.  Appreciation 
is  necessary  in  order  to  make  it  worth  while  to  read  at 
all.  If  he  is  not  getting  the  meaning  fully  and  accu- 
rately and  with  broad  and  helpful  comprehension  of  the 
work  as  a  whole  in  the  original,  he  had  better  read  a 
good  translation. 

For  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  until  he  knows  a 
language  so  as  to  think  in  it,  he  himself  is  only  trans- 
lating when  he  reads  it.  Now  many  approved  printed 
translations  have  been  made  by  some  one  who  knows 
the  foreign  language  well,  and  has  made  some  special 
study  of  the  author  whose  work  he  renders.  If  you 
know  the  language  but  slightly,  you  are  getting  in 
your  own  reading  only  the  translation  of  an  amateur, 
which  is  quite  sure  to  be  inferior  to  that  of  an  expert. 
It  is  a  piece  of  very  considerable  self-conceit  for  the 
callow  student  who  can  only  hammer  out  a  language 
with  grammar  and  dictionary  to  look  with  contempt  on 
the  best 'work  of  a  specialist  in  that  language  because 
it  is  "only  a  translation." 

The  average  college  graduate  may  apply  this  test  to 
himself :  Would  you  be  willing  to  translate  at  sight  some 
passage  from  an  unfamiliar  Greek  or  Latin  classic,  and 
go  into  print  with  that  translation  over  your  own  name? 
If  you  would  not  look  it  up  first  in  some  approved 
translation,  or  at  least  do  some  careful  work  with  a 
Greek  or  Latin  dictionary,  you  are  more  than  an  aver- 
age college  graduate. 


86  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

But  the  average  college  graduate  is  more  to  be  pitied 
than  blamed.  From  the  time  when  he  plowed  through 
Vergil  and  Cicero  in  the  high  school,  he  has  been  forced 
to  treat  the  classic  authors  simply  as  exercises  in  ety- 
mology. In  old  time  the  classics  were  endeared  to  the 
schoolboy  by  sound  floggings,  and  in  more  recent  times 
by  "keeping  after  school."  The  school-teachers,  and 
later,  the  college  professors,  all  go  on  the  assumption 
that  every  one  of  these  students  is  to  be  made  an  ety- 
mologist,— when  not  one  in  a  thousand  could  be  if  he 
would,  or  would  be  if  he  could.  Hence,  they  must  go 
into  the  garden  plot  of  one  of  Vergil's  most  beautiful 
descriptions,  and  pull  up  every  word  by  the  roots  to  see 
what  it  is  made  of.  They  must  massacre  every  line  of 
Homer,  till  the  slaughter  of  Greeks  and  Trojans  becomes 
a  negligible  quantity.  If  by  any  chance  a  student  is 
caught  feeling  any  real  interest  in  a  passage,  he  is 
dragged  through  some  wire-fences  of  syntax  or  some 
underbrush  of  Doric  or  ^Eolic  variants,  till  not  only 
the  conceit  is  taken  out  of  him,  but  also  all  interest  in 
the  author's  thought.  There  has  been  nothing  like  it 
since  the  legendary  Puritan  days  when  misbehaving 
children  were  set  to  read  the  Bible  as  a  punishment. 
We  know  one  boy  who  was  kept  two  hours  after  school 
because  he  was  indiscreet  enough  to  see  the  joke  in  a 
story  in  his  German  reader  and  to  laugh  at  it.  The  vic- 
tims estimate  their  progress  as  convicts  their  sentence, 
not  by  what  they  have  accomplished,  but  by  what  they 
still ' '  have  got  to  read. ' '  The  system  is  venerable  by  its 
antiquity,  and  has  abundant  British  precedent.  It  is 
objectionable  chiefly  because  it  does  not  teach  the  lan- 
guages to  which  it  is  applied,  and  does  make  the  authors 
who  have  written  in  them  detested. 

A  graduate  goes  to  a  hotel  on  the  Continent  of  Europe, 


WORLD-LITERATURE    IN   ENGLISH         87 

and  finds  the  proprietor  able  to  converse  with  him  in 
English,  and  at  intervals  with  another  guest  in  German, 
give  directions  to  his  servants  in  Italian,  while  writing, 
as  opportunity  allows,  a  letter  in  French.  The  helpless 
graduate  says  wrathfully  to  himself,  "I  have  spent  my 
best  years  since  I  was  thirteen  studying  Latin  and  Greek 
and  some  modern  languages.  I  have  at  least  average 
ability,  and  have  been  fairly  industrious,  yet  I  could  not 
carry  on  an  intelligent  conversation  or  write  a  respecta- 
ble letter  in  any  language  except  my  own  if  my  life  de- 
pended upon  it.  I  do  not  know  whether  this  man  could 
'pass'  one  of  our  examinations,  but  he  does  know  what 
languages  are  for,  and  can  use  them  effectively."  The 
same  traveler  finds  the  "English"  hotels  full  of  edu- 
cated Britons  and  Americans  as  helpless  as  himself. 
He  sees  a  college  president  try  in  vain  to  talk  with  a 
child  in  French,  while  a  traveler  of  far  inferior  scholar- 
ship falls  into  easy  conversation  with  the  little  one,  and 
he  feels  that  scholarship  has  somehow  missed  its  mark. 
A  few  scholars  survive  even  the  school  and  university 
system.  But  even  these,  when  they  get  out  into  the 
work  of  modern  life,  are  hard  driven  by  the  exactions 
of  their  calling,  and  find  the  dead  languages  becoming 
ever  deader,  while  even  the  living  ones  grow  coy  and 
shy.  You  go  to  see  a  friend  off  on  a  French  steamer. 
The  steward  doesn't  understand  plain  English,  and  you 
meditate  a  sentence  in  French,  but,  before  you  can  get 
it  constructed,  the  march  of  events  has  carried  you  to 
the  next  deck — a  lack  of  readiness  which  discourages 
conversation.  The  same  hesitancy  hampers  you  if  you 
sit  down  to  read  a  classic  in  a  language  other  than  your 
own,  and  the  reading  goes  like  a  dinner  where  you 
have  to  wait  for  each  dish  to  be  separately  cooked  and 
served. 


88  EXPEESSIVE    ENGLISH 

If  you  find  a  man  who  can  read  one  day  'in  Latin,  the 
next  in  Greek,  then  in  French,  German,  and  Italian, 
and  another  day  in  Spanish,  with  enjoyment  of  his  vari- 
ous authors  and  clear  comprehension  of  their  meaning, 
you  have  found  a  man  of  very  unusual  attainments,  and 
he  is  practically  certain  to  be  a  man  of  letters,  not  ac- 
tively engaged  in  business,  politics,  or  professional  life. 
Gladstone,  indeed,  could  study  Homer  for  recreation  in 
the  intervals  of  official  activity ;  Macaulay  did  not  think 
it  necessary  to  translate  the  Italian  quotations  in  his 
Essays,  supposing  apparently  that  " every  schoolboy" 
could  read  them  at  sight.  There  are  a  few — a  very  few 
— such  men  in  every  generation.  Any  such  accom- 
plished scholar  may  be  summarily  dismissed  from  our 
consideration  here.  He  will  take  care  of  himself.  Gen- 
eral rules  are  not  for  him.  If  he  dismisses  us  from  con- 
sideration we  will  bear  that  as  best  we  may.  Business 
men,  clerks,  stenographers,  editors,  Jawyers,  doctors, 
and  ministers  who  are  crowded  with  daily  work,  and 
only  able  to  read  by  snatches,  can  not  keep  his  pace. 
But  these  are  the  very  ones  we  care  jnost  for,  and  the 
only  ones  who  need  our  consideration.  For  them  the 
question  returns,  Is  every  man  or  woman  who  can  read 
nothing  but  English  to  be  shut  out  of  everything  not 
originally  written  in  English,  because  it  is  "unschol- 
arly"  to  read  a  translation? 

Here  we  would  say,  by  way  of  precaution,  that  it  is 
eminently  desirable  for  every  one  who  has  the  oppor- 
tunity to  know  at  least  one  language  besides  his  own. 
By  that  he  will  better  understand  his  own.  The  case  is 
that  of  the  "me"  and  "not  me"  of  psychology.  As 
beautifully  stated  by  Tennyson :  * 


*  "In  Memoriam,"  xlv.    [Strahan,  London,  1872.] 


WORLD-LITERATURE    IN   ENGLISH         89 

"The  baby  new  to  earth  and  sky, 

What  time  his  tender  palm  is  prest 
Against  the  circle  of  the  breast, 
Has  never  thought  that  'this  is  I' : 

But  as  he  grows  he  gathers  much 

And  learns  the  use  of  'I'  and  'me/ 
And  finds  'I  am  not  what  I  see, 

And  other  than  the  things  I  touch.' " 

We  understand  ourselves  better,  and  perhaps  only 
understand  ourselves,  by  coming  into  contact  with  what 
is  not  ourselves.  This  is  the  good  of  travel,  the  good  of 
the  varying  demands  of  business,  that  the  "me"  has  to 
be  perpetually  measured  against  some  new  form  of  the 
"not  me."  Hence  it  is  that  the  man  who  stands  all 
day  at  one  punching  machine,  the  woman  who  takes 
sheets  all  day  long  off  one  folder  in  the  printing  office, 
or  the  theorist  who  sits  all  day  at  one  desk  arranging 
the  universe,  tends  to  become  what  we  call  narrow- 
minded.  The  mind  of  such  a  person  does  not  expand 
with  any  symmetry  for  want  of  being  called  out  in  vari- 
ous directions  to  act  upon  or  resist  things  that  are  not 
itself.  Thus  the  objection  to  Adam  Smith's  explana- 
tion of  the  wonderful  dexterity  to  be  gained  in  making 
pin-heads  by  the  man  who  does  nothing  else  is  well 
taken, — that  the  man  who  spends  all  his  days  from 
morning  to  night  in  making  pin-heads  will  come  to  have 
nothing  but  a  pin-head  himself! 

A  new  language  tends  to  break  up  all  narrow  ex- 
clusiveness.  It  compels  you  to  compare  notes  with 
thinkers  who  have  cast  their  thoughts  in  a  different 
mold.  This  is  a  great  mental  advantage;  but  if  your 
study-time  is  limited,  do  not  try  to  learn  too  many  lan- 
guages ;  it  is  better  to  be  comfortable  and  efficient  in  one 
foreign  language  than  helpless  and  tormented  in  six. 


90  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

Yet,  even  in  your  new  language,  do  not  be  afraid  of 
English  translations.  The  inductive  method  of  some 
schoolbooks  starts  the  learner  with  an  interlinear  Eng- 
lish translation  at  the  outset.  Good  scholars  recommend 
the  learner  to  read  the  Scriptures  in  the  new  language, 
because  a  thought  that  has  become  familiar  in  his  own 
tongue  will  help  him  to  approach  the  words  of  another ; 
and  this  process  is  found  to  be  not  less,  but  more,  de- 
votional, for  the  passage  which  has  become  so  familiar 
in  his  own  language  that  he  may  read  it  as  he  drinks 
Water,  without  tasting  it,  gains  new  thought  and  mean- 
ing when  he  is  compelled  to  pause  on  the  words  of  a 
new  language.  In  reading  other  books  in  a  foreign 
language,  do  not  fear  to  keep  a  good  translation  beside 
you  and  turn  to  it  whenever  you  strike  a  snag.  When 
you  reach  clear  water  again,  go  on  with  the  original  as 
far  as  your  sailing  powers  will  carry  you.  Then  refer 
at  pleasure  to  your  translation  for  guidance  and  com- 
parison. You  will  get  the  author's  thought  more  rap- 
idly, and  so  be  in  more  sympathy  with  his  spirit,  as  you 
are  able  to  read  freely  and  easily.  You  will  learn  many 
words  by  simple  absorption,  by  context  and  derived 
thought,  just  as  a  child  learns  them — and  the  words 
will  be  more  alive  than  the  same  words  in  a  dictionary. 
A  child  must  learn  a  language  before  he  can  use  a  dic- 
tionary. How  he  can  do  it,  starting  with  absolutely 
nothing,  is  one  of  the  mysteries  of  human  existence. 
There  is  no  better  way  to  enter  the  kingdom  of  a  for- 
eign language  than  to  become  as  a  little  child. 

"Yet  how  would  this  work  in  a  school  or  college?" 
Exceedingly  well,  we  think.  If  you  are  a  teacher,  say 
to  your  students,  ' '  I  do  not  care  how  many  translations 
you  use,  or  who  helps  you  outside  the  classroom.  The 
one  thing  is  that  you  know  the  language.  Whether 


WORLD-LITERATURE    IN   ENGLISH         91 

you  do  that  or  not,  I  can  quickly  discover  in  your  recita- 
tion ;  and  whatever  helps  you  really  to  know  a  language 
you  are  welcome  to  use.  The  more  you  know  of  the 
language  before  you  come  into  class,  the  more  time  we 
shall  have  for  the  author's  thought  and  style."  If  you 
make  your  students  really  interested  in  the  thought  of 
a  foreign  author,  they  will  learn  more  of  the  foreign 
language  than  could  be  drilled  into  them  or  extorted 
from  them  by  any  other  process. 

The  average  college  graduate  will  get  more  from 
Jowett's  translation  of  Plato,  or  Coleridge's  transla- 
tion of  Schiller's  ' ' Wallenstein, "  or  Longfellow's  trans- 
lation of  Dante,  than  from  his  own;  and  the  mere 
English  reader  who  knows  neither  Greek,  German,  nor 
Italian  will  get  mbre  from  any  one  of  the  three  works 
named  than  the  imperfect  scholar  will  get  by  reading 
the  original.  Let  the  student  with  an  imperfect  knowl- 
edge of  a  foreign  tongue  aid  himself  by  the  translation, 
and  let  the  English  reader  rely  confidently  upon  the 
translation. 

We  want  the  best  thoughts  of  the  master-minds  of  all 
lands  and  all  time  to  broaden  and  exalt  our  own.  If  we 
can  read  them  in  the  languages  in  which  they  were 
written,  very  well.  If  not,  let  us  go  for  them,  and  go 
for  them  very  strongly  and  heartily,  in  the  best  attain- 
able English  translations. 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  himself  no  mean  scholar, 
writes  (Italics  ours)  :  * 

"The  respectable  and  sometimes  excellent  translations  of 
Bonn's  Library  have  done  for  literature  what  railroads  have 
done  for  internal  intercourse.  I  do  not  hesitate  to  read  all 
the  books  I  have  named,  and  all  good  books,  in  translations. 


"Society  and  Solitude,"  Books  and   Reading. 


92  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

What  is  really  best  in  any  book  is  translatable, — any  real 
insight  or  broad  human  sentiment.  Nay,  I  observe  that  in 
our  Bible,  and  other  books  of  lofty  moral  tone,  it  seems  easy 
and  inevitable  to  render  the  rhythm  and  music  of  the  origi- 
nal into  phrases  of  equal  melody.  ...  I  rarely  read  any 
Latin,  Greek,  German,  Italian,  sometimes  not  a  French 
book,  in  the  original,  which  I  can  procure  in  a  good  version. 
I  like  to  be  beholden  to  the  great  metropolitan  English 
speech,  the  sea  which  receives  tributaries  from  every  region 
under  heaven.  I  should  as  soon  think  of  swimming  across 
Charles  River  when  I  wish  to  go  to  Boston,  as  of  reading 
all  my  books  in  originals  when  I  have  them  rendered  for 
me  in  my  mother-tongue." 

Dr.  W.  C.  Wilkinson  remarks :  * 

"Goethe  was  before  Emerson  in  standing  up  strong  for 
translation,  maintaining  that  the  essence,  the  substance,  of 
any  literary  work  is  quite  capable  of  being  translated  from 
language  to  language." 

Emerson's  illustration  of  the  English  translation  of 
the  Scriptures  is  peculiarly  happy.  We  catch  the  spirit- 
ual glory  of  the  Hebrew  poetry  in  the  rapt  visions  of 
Isaiah,  the  pleadings,  the  exalted  faith,  the  ascriptions 
of  praise  of  the  Psalms ;  and  we  feel  a  difference  in  the 
language — not  merely  in  the  thought — when  we  turn  to 
the  simple  narratives  of  the  Gospels  or  the  didactic 
style  of  the  Epistles.  Nor  only  so ;  we  seem  to  catch  a 
transition  of  style  in  passing  from  the  Old  Testament 
narratives,  like  the  story  of  Joseph,  to  the  New  Testa- 
ment narratives,  like  the  account  of  the  Transfigura- 
tion or  the  parable  of  the  Good  Samaritan ;  and  it  seems 
not  fanciful  to  think  that  the  style  of  the  translators 
was  insensibly  influenced  by  the  unlikeness  of  the  Greek 
and  the  Hebrew  idiom,  each  of  which  they  caught  by  a 

*  "The  Good  of  Life,"  Goethe's  "Faust,"  p.  319. 


WORLD-LITERATURE    IN   ENGLISH         93 

fine,  scholarly  instinct,  and  expressed  vividly  in  the 
sensitive  English. 

And  it  is  not  amiss  to  remark  at  this  point  that 
the  entire  faith  of  Christendom  is  based  upon  transla- 
tions. The  Latin  Vulgate,  which  was  for  centuries  the 
only  Bible  of  western  Europe,  is  a  translation  from  the 
Greek  and  Hebrew.  Though  the  Greek  Church  may  use 
the  New  Testament  in  the  original  Greek,  its  Old  Testa- 
ment is  the  Septuagint,  a  Greek  translation  from  the 
original  Hebrew.  If,  as  many  scholars  believe,  and  as 
some  passages  of  the  Gospels  seem  to  indicate,  Jesus 
commonly  spoke  Aramaic,  the  dialectical  Hebrew  of 
Palestine,  we  have  in  the  Greek  Testament  itself  only 
translations  of  the  very  utterances  of  the  Founder  of 
the  Christian  faith.  By  translations  the  Bible  has  gone 
round  the  world,  producing  in  the  Orient,  in  Africa, 
and  in  the  islands  of  the  sea  an  essential  unity  of  Chris- 
tian faith.  No  more  stupendous  spiritual  force  has  ever 
been  exerted  upon  earth  than  that  of  the  translations  of 
the  Scriptures. 

So,  too,  Emerson's  remark  that  " Whatever  is  really 
best  in  any  book  is  translatable,"  is  one  of  his  crucial 
sayings  that  justifies  itself.  Something  of  form,  and 
of  what  we  might  call  flavor,  we  must  lose,  but  the  es- 
sence, the  gist — if  there  is  any — can  be  carried  over. 
The  converse  is  equally  true,  that  whatever  is  worst  in 
any  book  is  translatable,  though  translators  often  show 
an  aversion,  which  must  be  commended,  to  doing  it.  If 
a  book  in  a  translation  is  utterly  empty  and  stupid,  it 
is  empty  and  stupid  in  the  original.  The  translator  did 
not  put  the  emptiness  in;  rather  you  may  be  sure  he 
did  his  best  to  fill  the  vacuum.  If  a  book  is  mean  and 
wretched  in  translation,  it  is  mean  and  wretched  in  the 
original.  Thus  Jeffrey  said  of  Goethe's  "Wilhelm 


94  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

Meister,"  "This  book  could  not  have  been  written  in 
English,"  and  with  his  Scotch  directness  and  courage 
gives  literal  translations  of  some  passages,  of  which  we 
might  say  that  they  could  not  now  be  printed  in  Eng- 
lish. They  were  and  are  just  as  bad  in  the  German, 
though  the  foreign  language  often  acts  as  a  kind  of 
veil  or  disguise  to  screen  the  full  atrocity  from  the 
English  reader  of  the  original.  It  is  very  safe  to  say 
that  what  will  not  bear  full  translation  into  English  is 
not  fit  to  read  in  any  language — unless  when  the  his- 
torian or  scholar  is  reading,  as  a  physician  investigates, 
to  understand  the  diseases  of  the  world.  Fortunately, 
the  English  reader  will  have  little  of  this  obtruded  upon 
him.  English  translators  have,  for  the  most  part,  been 
persons  of  clear  judgment  and  good  taste,  and  English 
and  American  publishers  have  had,  on  the  whole,  a 
sound  judgment  of  what  the  reading  public  of  the 
English-speaking  world  would  bear.  Rather  they  have 
given  us  a  glorious  accumulation  of  all  that  is  grand, 
beautiful,  and  good  in  all  the  languages  of  the  earth. 

So  considered,  we  view  our  English  privileges  with 
wonder  and  delight. 

•  Do  you  care  for  Homer  or  Vergil,  for  Demosthenes 
or  Cicero,  for  Herodotus,  Thucydides,  Livy,  or  Tacitus, 
or  Plutarch,  for  Aristotle,  Plato,  or  Xenophon,  for 
JEschylus,  Euripides,  or  Sophocles,  for  Aristophanes, 
Ovid,  or  Juvenal,  for  the  fables  of  JEsop  or  The  Arabian 
Nights  Entertainments,  for  Cervantes'  "Don  Quixote" 
or  the  "Chronicle  of  the  Cid,"  for  Dante  or  Petrarch 
or  Boccaccio  or  Ariosto,  for  Kepler  or  Leibnitz  or  Fichte 
or  Kant  or  Descartes,  for  Spinoza  or  Swedenborg,  for 
Goethe  or  Schiller  or  Lessing,  for  Fenelon  or  Bossuet, 
Malebranche  or  Pascal,  for  Moliere,  Voltaire,  or  Rous- 
seau, for  Dumas,  Balzac,  or  Victor  Hugo,  for  Ibsen  or 


WORLD-LITERATURE    IN   ENGLISH         95 

Tolstoi,  or  a  thousand  others?  You  may  read  them  all 
in  the  language  in  which  you  read  your  morning  paper. 
Are  you  interested  to  know  about  the  Vedas  or  the 
Eddas  or  the  Zend  A  vesta?  You  may  read  all  that  is 
most  important  of  them  in  English.  Would  you  learn 
what  Mohammed  really  taught?  There  is  an  English 
translation  of  the  Koran.  Do  you  wish  to  understand 
the  teaching  of  Buddhism?  Many  admirable  and 
learned  English  works  will  give  you  translations  and 
digests  of  the  chief  monuments  of  that  faith.  Scholarly 
translations  of  the  texts  and  classics  of  Confucianism 
are  easily  accessible  in  English.  You  may  read  in 
English  the  songs  of  the  Troubadours,  the  inscriptions 
on  the  bricks  and  clay  cylinders  ef  Babylon  and  Nine- 
veh, or  the  hieroglyphics  on  the  tombs  and  pyramids 
of  Egypt.  Of  modern  works,  anything  that  commands 
wide  attention  is  almost  instantly  rendered  into 
English.  The  chances  are  that  an  English  translation 
will  be  published  in  England  or  America  simultane- 
ously with  the  appearance  of  the  original  in  its  own 
country.  Through  our  native  language  we  may  keep 
our  finger  on  the  pulse  of  all  the  world.  By  its  facility 
and  felicity  of  translation,  its  power  to  express  the  es- 
sential thought  of  any  writing  produced  in  any  lan- 
guage, English  has  become  the  Pentecost  of  the  nations, 
so  that  their  utterances  in  every  variety  of  human 
speech  we  may  hear  "every  man  in  our  own  tongue 
wherein  we  were  born." 

That  this  is  no  rhetorical  rapture  the  following  inci- 
dent will  show:  A  young  minister  had  failed  of  a  col- 
lege education  because  of  the  belief  that  he  must  lose 
not  a  moment  in  going  to  men  with  the  Christian  mes- 
sage— "to  preach  the  gospel."  Later,  as  he  came  to 
see  how  much  that  gospel  message  involved,  he  was 


96  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

aware  that  he  had  made  a  mistake,  which  it  was  then 
too  late  to  correct.  What  could  he  do?  He  resolved, 
"I  will  study,  as  far  as  I  can  reach  it  in  English,  the 
best  of  all  that  college  men  learn,  so  that  when  I  meet 
a  college  man  I  shall  know  something  of  the  best  of  all 
he  knows,  and  be  able  to  converse  with  him  intelli- 
gently." Bight  there  he  began  a  course  of  self -educa- 
tion which  has  placed  him  among  the  scholarly  men  of 
the  world.  That  man  was  the  one  now  honored  as 
Bishop  Vincent,  who  told  this  story  of  his  own  youth 
at  the  great  Chautauqua  which  he  founded,  and  whose 
Chautauqua  Literary  and  Scientific  Association  has 
opened  the  treasures  of  learning  through  the  English 
tongue  to  thousands  of  readers,  young  and  old,  in  homes, 
on  farms,  in  factories  and  offices,  all  over  the  English- 
speaking  world.  In  his  own  person,  and  through  the 
great  society  he  has  founded,  he  has  demonstrated  that 
the  essentials  of  a  liberal  education  may  be  secured  by 
any  industrious  student  by  means  of  the  English  lan- 
guage alone. 

The  scholar  and  the  university  should  be  in  full  sym- 
pathy with  such  wide,  dissemination  of  the  best  results 
of  university  training  through  the  medium  of  the  "cos- 
mopolitan English  speech"  accessible  to  all  our  people. 
The  desirability  of  such  wide  diffusion  of  learning  was 
well  stated  by  President  Hibben  of  Princeton  Univer- 
sity in  a  noble  address  recently  given  before  the  Brook- 
lyn Institute  of  Fine  Arts  on  "The  Functions  of  the 
University  in  America,"  as  follows: 

"The  world  is  coming  into  possession  of  a  greater  mass 
of  knowledge  than  ever  before,  a  knowledge  of  a  peculiar 
kind — that  which  gives  a  man  a  more  intimate  knowledge 
of  himself,  of  the  conditions  of  his  life,  of  the  relations 
which  he  sustains,  and  of  the  obligations  which  re?t  vpon 


WORLD-LITERATURE    IN   ENGLISH         97 

him  as  a  son,  father,  neighbor,  friend,  and  citizen — a  knowl- 
edge which,  if  properly  apprehended  and  properly  applied, 
will  tend,  not  merely  to  preserve  human  life,  but  to  enrich 
and  ennoble  it.  This  human  knowledge  must  be  both 
gained  and  augmented  by  university  investigation  and  reach, 
and  it  is  incumbent  upon  the  university  also  to  cause 
this  knowledge  to  be  diffused  as  widely  as  possible,  so  that 
it  may  become  the  free  possession  of  the  many,  and  not  the 
hidden  secret  of  the  few.  The  university,  not  merely 
through  its  teaching  body,  but  through  the  men  whom  it  is 
yearly  equipping  and  sending  forth  into  the  work  of  the 
world,  must  be  able  to  interpret  this  knowledge,  to  simplify 
it,  and  to  express  it  in  terms  which  the  multitude  will  be 
able  to  understand  and  use." 


CHAPTER   V 

ENGLISH    SYNONYMS— THEIR 
ABUNDANCE   AND    HELPFULNESS 

The  word  synonym  is  from  the  Greek,  a  compound 
of  syn-  (or  sun-),  meaning  "with"  or  "together,"  and 
onoma,  "name,"  and  is  applied  to  any  one  of  two  or 
more  words  that  "name  together," — fellow-names  for 
the  same  thing.  "We  might  call  a  pair  of  synonyms  in 
English  "twin-names"  for  one  meaning.  From  this 
we  have  the  adjective  synonymous,  which  in  strictness 
signifies  "equivalent  in  meaning;"  but  the  adjective 
synonymous  holds  more  strictly  to  the  original  mean- 
ing than  the  noun  synonym.  Most  people  know  that  if 
you  say  one  word  is  a  synonym  of  another,  it  may  not 
mean  exactly  the  same  thing.  If  you  say  the  words  are 
synonymous,  on  the  other  hand,  they  then  feel  that  you 
mean  they  are  identical. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  is  very  rare  to  find  any  two 
words  that  have  precisely  the  same  meaning  so  as  to  be 
always  interchangeable.  There  is  almost  always  a  dif- 
ference either  in  meaning  or  in  use.  You  will  find 
many  words  that  you  can  not  discriminate  in  meaning 
by  the  dictionary,  but  the  moment  you  attempt  to  use 
them  you  will  see  you  can  use  one  in  some  connections, 
while  in  others  you  must  not  employ  it.  Take  the  two 
verbs  begin  and  commence,  with  their  nouns,  beginning 
and  commencement.  Their  meaning  seems  at  first  sight 
to  be  identical.  We  may  say,  "The  service  will  com- 

98 


ENGLISH   SYNONYMS  99 

mence  at  8  o'clock",  or  "The  service  will  begin  at  8 
o'clock,"  and  there  is  no  perceptible  difference  between 
these  two  statements.  "We  may  say, ' '  This  was  the  begin- 
ning or  this  was  the  commencement  of  the  enterprise — 
of  the  hostilities. ' '  But  we  soon  became  aware  of  a  cer- 
tain formality  about  commencement  that  is  not  in  be- 
ginning. Take  the  opening  verse  of  Mark's  gospel: 
"The  beginning  of  the  gospel  of  Jesus  Christ,  the  son 
of  God. ' '  We  should  weaken  it  indescribably  if  we  were 
to  make  it  read — "The  commencement  of  the  gospel  of 
Jesus  Christ."  We  should  lose  the  plain  simplicity  of 
the  Anglo-Saxon  in  the  literary  formality  of  the  Latin. 
Still  more  would  this  be  true  of  the  first  verse  of  Gene- 
sis, if  we  were  to  change  "In  the  beginning  God  created 
the  heaven  and  the  earth  " ;  to  read — ' '  In  the  commence- 
ment God  created  the  heaven  and  the  earth."  On  the 
other  hand,  take  the  common  expression  for  graduation 
day, — the  college  commencement, — and  how  strange  it 
would  seem  to  speak  of  the  beginning  of  the  college. 
We  should  think  that  it  meant  its  historical  origin.  It 
would  not  even  mean  the  same  thing  as  now,  the  com- 
mencement, of  course,  meaning  the  day  on  which  the 
graduates  commence  their  graduate  life,  commence  their 
course  as  Bachelors  of  Arts,  for  instance.  Perhaps 
there  are  no  other  two  words  in  the  language  that  have 
so  little  difference  between  them,  and  yet  even  these  are 
not  always  interchangeable. 

The  English  language  is  peculiarly  rich  in  synonyms, 
as  with  such  a  history  it  could  not  fail  to  be.  From  the 
fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,  Britons,  Jutes,  Angles,  Sax- 
ons, Danes,  Northmen,  and  Normans,  fighting,  fortify- 
ing, and  settling  upon  the  soil  of  England,  and  all 
fenced  in  together  by  the  sea,  could  not  but  influence 
one  another's  speech.  English  merchants,  soldiers,  sail- 


100  EXPRESSIVE   ENGLISH 

ors,  and  travelers,  trading,  warring,  and  exploring  in 
every  clime,  of  necessity  brought  back  new  terms  of  sea 
and  shore,  of  shop  and  camp  and  battle-field.  English 
scholars  have  studied  Greek  and  Latin  for  a  thousand 
years,  and  the  languages  of  the  Continent  and  of  the 
Orient  in  more  recent  times.  English  churchmen  have 
introduced  words  from  Hebrew,  Greek,  and  Latin, 
through  Bible  and  prayer-book,  sermon,  and  tract. 
From  all  this  it  results  that  there  is  scarcely  a  language 
ever  spoken  among  men  that  has  not  some  representa- 
tive in  English  speech.  Often  words  derived  from  two 
or  more  sources  would  be  equivalent  in  meaning,  and 
for  a  while  these  equivalent  words  would  dwell  side  by 
side,  and  be  used  indiscriminately  and  quite  at  random 
for  the  same  thing. 

Then  thoughtful  English  people  would  come  to  in- 
quire, what  is  the  use  of  having  several  words  for  one 
thing.  After  that, — as  any  object  or  idea  may  be  viewed 
in  various  aspects, — one  of  these  words  would  be  seen 
to  have  one  aspect  and  another  word  to  have  another, 
while  all  of  them,  differing  in  particulars,  have  one 
common  ground.  They  may  be  compared  to  streams 
which  for  part  of  their  course  blend  their  waters  into 
one,  while  above  their  confluence  each  flows  independ- 
ently as  a  separate  river,  under  its  own  distinctive 
name.  So  with  a  group  of  synonyms,  you  will  find  there 
is  a  certain  ground  which  they  cover,  where  they  are 
practically  identical,  and  within  this  common  territory 
they  may  be  used  interchangeably;  and  you  will  find 
there  is  a  certain  line  of  meaning  or  of  usage  for  each, 
where  it  differs  from  the  other  or  others,  and  demands 
distinctive  use.  Hence  arises  the  wonderful  power  of 
our  language  to  exhibit  almost  any  idea  in  various 
lights,  as  by  the  gem-cutter  a  single  diamond  can  be 


ENGLISH    SYNONYMS  101 

made  to  reveal  the  light  in  ever-varying  gleams  from  its 
numerous  facets. 

Thus  the  field  of  choice  is  very  wide.  This  will  ap- 
pear from  the  following  list  of  words  taken  at  random, 
for  which  synonyms  have  been  enumerated  as  follows: 

beautiful,  17  candid,  20  poverty,  10 

beginning,  14  fickle,  25  power,  28 

benevolence,  16  hatred,  20  renounce,  15 

bright,  31  hinder,  27  wealth,  20 

These  numbers  may  be  made  a  trifle  more  or  less,  ac- 
cording to  the  methods  of  enumeration  of  different 
authors.  For  the  word  pure  there  are  thirty-seven 
synonyms,  as  follows: 

absolute,  chaste,  classic,  classical,  clean,  clear,  continent, 
fair,  genuine,  guileless,  guiltless,  holy,  immaculate,  incor- 
rupt, innocent,  mere,  perfect,  real,  sheer,  simple,  spotless, 
stainless,  true,  unadulterated,  unblemished,  uncorrupted,  un- 
defiled,  unmingled,  unmixed,  unpolluted,  unspotted,  un- 
stained, unsullied,  untainted,  untarnished,  upright,  virtuous. 

One  of  the  first  things  for  every  young  speaker  or 
writer  to  do  is  to  make  it  clear  to  himself  that 

THERE  ARE  SYNONYMS. 

He  is,  in  all  probability,  using  the  same  word  much 
too  frequently,  consciously  or  unconsciously.  Thus 
"great"  is  a  very  excellent  and  valuable  word,  but  it 
becomes  to  some  writers  the  only  term  to  express  any 
idea  of  magnitude  whatever,  as  in  the  following: 

"We  were  greatly  surprised  to  see  so  great  a  crowd  of 
people  assembled,  evidently  for  some  great  occasion.  On 
inquiry  we  learned  that  a  great  man  was  to  address  the 
people  on  a  subject  of  great  interest.  The  great  size  of  the 
field,  which  sloped  like  an  amphitheater,  enabled  the  great 
crowd  to  hear  every  word  with  great  ease,  and  all  listened 
with  great  attention  to  the  great  thoughts  presented." 


102  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

That  is  perfectly  correct  English.  Great  is  used  cor- 
rectly in  every  one  of  these  phrases,  and  yet  you  see 
how  ruinous  the  effect  of  the  repetition  is  to  the  pas- 
sage. That  is  but  a  slight  exaggeration  of  the  style  into 
which  some  writers  fall,  and  from  which  they  seem  un- 
able to  get  out.  The  way  out  is  by  the  path  of  syno- 
nyms. Let  us  take  the  specimen  just  given  and  see  what 
synonyms  will  do  for  it. 

"We  were  much  surprised  to  see  so  large  a  number  of 
people  assembled,  evidently  for  some  important  occasion. 
On  inquiry  we  learned  that  an  eminent  man  was  to  address 
the  people  on  a  subject  of  especial  interest.  The  ample 
size  of  the  field,  which  sloped  like  an  amphitheater,  enabled 
the  vast  crowd  to  hear  every  word  with  perfect  ease,  and  all 
listened  with  the  utmost  attention  to  the  noble  thoughts 
presented." 

That  is  at  least  readable.  It  would  answer  for  a  de- 
scription that  could  be  either  spoken  or  printed,  in  place 
of  the  other,  which  would  be  intolerable  either  in  speak- 
ing or  writing.  The  pitiful  repetition  with  which  many 
persons  use  such  words  as  elegant,  splendid,  clever,  aw- 
ful, horrid,  etc.,  to  indicate — for  they  can  not  be  said 
to  express — almost  any  shade  of  approved  or  objection- 
able qualities,  shows  a  poverty  of  language  which  it  is 
of  the  first  importance  to  correct.  It  would  be  well  for 
every  young  writer  to  ask  himself,  or  ask  some  judicious 
friend,  from  time  to  time, — "Am  I  using  any  one  word 
too  much?"  "Have  I  used  any  word  repetitiously  in 
this  article  or  in  this  paragraph?"  If  you  find  your- 
self harping  on  one  string,  then  from  the  abundant 
synonyms  of  our  language,  restring  your  lyre,  and  bring 
out  the  various  tones  in  rich  and  pleasing  harmony.  In 
revising  any  article  of  your  own,  look  through  it  for  rep- 
etition, as  for  an  intruder  or  a  blemish.  And,  whenever 


ENGLISH    SYNONYMS  103 

any  word  appears  too  often,  say  to  yourself,  A  substitute 
for  that  repeated  word  can  be  and  shall  be  found.  Then 
set  to  work  to  find  it. 

i 

SYNONYMS  AS  INTERCHANGEABLE 

The  numerous  synonyms  that  are  interchangeable 
are  of  especial  value  in  contributing  to  excellence  of 
style.  For  this  purpose  they  supply: 

1.  Variety. — Avoidance  of  repetition  is  a  worthy  aim. 
The  hearer  or  reader  instinctively  feels,  when  the  same 
word  returns,  that  the  same  thought  is  coming  back.  He 
seems  to  be  listening  to  a  thrice-told  tale,  and  getting 
nowhere.  The  innate  instinct  of  progress  makes  the 
mind  resent  even  the  suggestion  of  being  dragged  back 
and  forth  over  the  same  ground. 

There  is  a  vicious  tendency,  which  sometimes  over- 
comes even  the  practised  speaker  or  writer,  to  use  an 
expression  merely  because  he  has  used  it  shortly  before. 
The  explanation  of  this  is  that  every  mental  activity 
may  be  said,  roughly  speaking,  to  cut  a  groove  in  the 
brain,  and  the  easiest  thing  for  any  subsequent  mental 
activity  to  do  is  to  follow  that  groove,  as  the  line  of  least 
resistance.  But  that  is  precisely  what  we  do  not  want. 
Great  things  are  seldom  done  or  said  in  the  line  of  least 
resistance,  but  ra,ther  by  the  power  of  an  aroused  mind 
to  resist  inertia,  to  act  with  new  initiative,  to  strike  out, 
invent,  discover,  originate.  Following  a  previous  track 
of  thought  is  the  result  of  mental  indolence,  while  really 
worthy  work  requires  that  the  mind  be  alert,  energetic, 
active,  eager,  intense.  Repetitiousness  is  thus  usually 
a  sign  of  mental  drowsiness  or  drifting. 

Beware  of  favorite  words.  Often  the  best  evidence 
that  a  word  .is  wrong  on  the  present  occasion  is  that  it 
was  right  on  some  quite  different  occasion.  Physicians 


104  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

come  to  be  much  afraid  of  the  survival  of  their  own 
prescriptions,  as  they  find  a  patient  taking,  or — still 
worse — administering  to  others,  for  a  sore  throat  a  rem- 
edy that  was  originally  successful  in  curing  indigestion. 
A  favorite  or  habitual  word  is  quite  sure  to  be,  in  the 
majority  of  cases,  misused.  Every  little  while  an  ad- 
mired author  or  popular  orator  employs  some  word  so 
aptly  that  it  fixes  itself  in  the  public  mind,  and  after 
that  everybody  uses  it,  on  every  occasion  where  it  can 
possibly  be  brought  in.  At  one  period  the  word  was 
permeate,  "to  be  thoroughly  diffused  through,  pervade, 
saturate,"  and  everything  was  permeated  by  some  es- 
sence or  influence.  At  a  later  time  trend — which  fitly 
describes  some  vast,  slow  geologic  movement — was  the 
favorite.  Everything  had  a  trend.  Buying  stocks  on 
the  wrong  side  of  the  market  had  a  trend  toward  the 
bankruptcy  which  was  its  swift  and  sure  result.  Later, 
meticulous  was  felt  to  have  a  fine,  cryptic,  and  dainty 
significance,  and  no  article  was  complete  which  did  not 
contain  some  meticulous  distinction  or  suggestion.  The 
European  war  brought  in  camouflage  as  fascinatingly 
descriptive,  but  that  swiftly  lost  its  charm  by  excessive 
use.  If  you  have  a  favorite  word,  be  sure  not  to  use 
that  word,  except  when  you  can  not  help  it.  Then,  on 
some  occasion  when  it  is  the  very  best  word  to  use,  that 
shop-worn  term  will  become  new,  even  to  yourself,  by 
its  happy  appropriateness. 

There  is  a  special  danger  of  repetition  of  the  common 
words,  the  supposedly  "simple"  words,  because  they 
include  so  many  meanings.  Dictionary-makers  find 
those  the  very  hardest  to  define.  It  is  easy  to  give  a 
definition  of  arterio-sclerosis,  because  that  means  just 
one  thing,  and  when  you  have  told  that  one  thing,  your 
definition  is  done.  But  the  so-called  "simple"  words, — 


ENGLISH    SYNONYMS  105 

the  "easy  words," — are  mostly  from  the  Anglo-Saxon, 
and  the  Anglo-Saxon  mind  dealt  in  the  concrete.  It 
used  short,  forceful  words  for  great  masses  of  meaning, 
trusting  hearers  or  readers  to  pick  out  the  sense  re- 
quired in  any  particular  case,  when  the  time  came. 
Whatever  was  desirable  in  any  one  of  a  thousand  ways 
was  good.  Whatever  was  not  good  was  bad.  Why 
worry  over  fine  distinctions?  So  our  children  largely 
think  and  speak  to-day.  Hence  their  language  is  pre- 
dominantly Anglo-Saxon.  But  the  world  has  grown 
up.  The  orator  or  author  addresses  a  constituency  that 
has  advanced  far  beyond  that  early  simplicity,  and  if  he 
would  meet  the  needs  of  the  time  that  now  is,  he  must 
use  a  store  of  special  and  distinctive  words,  such  as  the 
Anglo-Saxons  would  have  had  to  invent  if  they  had 
lived  and  progressed  without  any  Norman  invasion. 

Take  the  little  word  give.  We  say  that  is  an  "easy" 
word.  "Every  child  understands  that."  But  the 
"Standard  Dictionary"  has  thirty-two  definitions  of 
that  little  word,  and  the  "Century  Dictionary"  also  has 
a  like  number,  not  including  obsoletes.  Thus  if  you 
were  to  use  that  little  word  give  in  all  its  various  senses, 
you  might  bring  it  in  some  twenty  or  thirty  times  within 
a  limited  space, — each  time  correctly,  but  with  a  total 
effect  of  appalling  monotony.  By  selection  of  synonyms 
we  obtain  other  forms  of  expression  for  these  various 
meanings,  which  also  express  them  more  exactly.  Thus : 

Give 

Synonyms : 

bestow,  cede,  communicate,  confer,  deliver,  furnish,  grant, 
impart,  present,  supply. 

To  give  is  primarily  to  transfer  to  another's  possession 
or   ownership,    without    compensation;    in    its    secondary 


106  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

sense  in  popular  use,  it  is  to  put  into  another's  possession 
by  any  means  and  on  any  terms  whatever;  a  buyer  may 
say  "Give  me  the  goods,  and  I  will  give  you  the  money"; 
we  speak  of  giving  answers,  information,  etc.,  and  often  of 
giving  what  is  not  agreeable  to  the  recipient,  as  blows, 
medicine,  reproof;  but  when  there  is  nothing  in  the  con- 
text to  indicate  the  contrary*  give  is  always  understood  in 
its  primary  sense;  as,  this  book  was  given  me.  Give  thus 
becomes,  like  get,  a  term  of  such  general  import  as  to  be  a 
synonym  for  a  wide  variety  of  words.  To  grant  is  to  put 
into  one's  possession  in  some  formal  way,  or  by  authorita- 
tive act;  as  Congress  grants  lands  to  a  railroad  corpora- 
tion. To  speak  of  granting  a  favor  carries  a  claim  or  con- 
cession of  superiority  on  the  part  of  the  one  by  whom  the 
grant  may  be  made;  to  confer  has  a  similar  sense;  as,  to 
confer  a  degree  or  an  honor;  we  grant  a  request  or  a  peti- 
tion, but  do  not  confer  it.  To  impart  is  to  give  of  that 
which  one  still,  to  a  greater  or  less  degree,  retains;  the 
teacher  imparts  instruction.  To  bestow  is  to  give  -that  of 
which  the  receiver  stands  in  especial  need;  we  bestow  alms. 

Hence,  instead  of  using  the  one  word  give  for  every 
one  of  these  various  meanings,  think  which  meaning 
you  wish  to  express,  and  use  the  synonym  for  that  spe- 
cial meaning.  Thus  your  language  will  be  marked  by 
a  natural  and  pleasing  variety,  and  will,  at  the  same 
time,  be  more  explicit. 

One  convenient  item  to  remember  in  the  study  of 
variety  is,  that  it  is  always  possible  to  vary  by  passing 
from  the  specific  to  the  generic.  Thus,  if  you  are  speak- 
ing of  a  horse,  and  if  that  one  specified  word  is  recur- 
ring too  often,  it  is  always  possible  to  use  one  of  certain 
generic  terms.  In  some  cases  you  may  say  beast, — the 
' '  poor  beast, ' '  or  the  ' '  lazy  beast ;"  if  he  is  ill-tempered 
and  tricky,  you  may  speak  of  the  " vicious  brute;"  you 
may  say  in  pity,  "the  poor  creature  showed  signs  of 
distress."  Then,  you  have  always  in  store  the  broad 


ENGLISH    SYNONYMS  107 

generic  word,  animal.  The  horse,  of  whatever  kind  or 
quality,  is  sure  to  be  an  animal,  and  you  may  say,  "I 
pitied  the  poor  animal,"  or,  "I  admired  the  noble  ani- 
mal". So,  for  the  specific  designation  of  city,  town, 
village,  or  hamlet,  it  is  always  possible  to  substitute  the 
one  generic  word,  "place".  Either  hope  or  fear,  joy  or 
sorrow,  is  a  feeling,  and  is  also  an  emotion.  If  you 
have  already  used  the  specific  term,  you  may  refer  back 
to  it  as  a  "  feeling "  or  an.  "  emotion, ' '  and  the  reference 
will  be  readily  understood. 

Repetition  should  also  be  shunned  on  grounds  of  good 
taste,  vivacity,  and  interest.  There  is  nothing  so  deadly 
in  style  as  monotony.  In  describing  a  lake  on  a  wind- 
less day,  I  may  speak  of  it  as  calm,  placid,  quiet,  smooth, 
still,  or  tranquil,  and  any  one  of  these  six  adjectives  is 
fitting.  But  if  I  have  occasion  to  refer  to  that  sheet  of 
water  six  times,  and  each  time  call  it  the  "placid  lake", 
can  the  repetition  fail  to  be  wearisome?  If,  however,  I 
refer  to  it  now  as  calm,  again  as  quiet,  smooth,  still,  or 
tranquil,  there  comes  at  each  time  a  new  turn  of  thought. 
My  hearer  or  reader  is  a  guest  in  my  house,  from  which 
six  windows  look  out  upon  the  lake,  each  at  a  different 
angle.  If  I  wish  him  to  be  impressed  with  the  beauty  of 
the  scene,  I  may  take  him  six  times  to  one  window, — a 
process  which  would  come  to  have  a  certain  sameness. 
But  if  I  invite  him  at  fitting  moments  to  each  of  the  six, 
he  gains  at  each  a  fresh  impression,  sees  a  new  land- 
scape, and  his  sense  of  the  loveliness  of  the  view  grows 
upon  him  throughout  the  whole  time  of  his  stay.  Vari- 
ety, within  rational  limits,  is  a  delight  in  and  for  itself, 
and  is  a  worthy  object  of  painstaking  endeavor. 

2.  Dignity. — There  are  certain  words  that  have  al- 
ways moved  amid  high  association,  which  have  never 
been  made  commonplace,  never  worn  threadbare  in  the 


108  EXPRESSIVE   ENGLISH 

shop  and  the  market,  never  "soiled  by  ignoble  use." 
They  are  especially  the  words  we  inherit  from  the  classic 
tongues  of  Greece  and  Rome, — not  because  those  lan- 
guages had  no  inferior  words,  but  because  it  is  chiefly 
the  works  of  the  masters  of  their  literature  that  have 
come  down  to  us,  carrying  still  the  nobility  of  their  ori- 
gin. Not  a  few  words  from  other  sources  partake  of  a 
like  nobility.  There  are  many  situations  where  nothing 
less  than  one  of  these  choicer  words  is  adequate  to  sus- 
tain a  sentence  or  paragraph  at  its  due  elevation. 

How  Coleridge's  famed  poem  would  be  brought  down 
to  the  commonplace,  if  we  were  to  substitute  for  the 
"Ancient  Mariner"  the  equivalent  phrase,  the  "Old 
Sailor!"  Byron's  famed  description  of  the  Battle  of 
Waterloo  begins: 

"There  was  a  sound  of  revelry  by  night, 
And  Belgium's  capital  had  gather'd  then 
Her  beauty  and  her  chivalry,  and  bright 
The  lamps  shone  o'er  fair  women  and  brave  men." 

Try  the  substitution  of  any  word  of  less  dignity  for 
' '  revelry, ' '  as : — ' '  there  was  a  sound  of  merriment, ' '  or 
"there  was  a  sound  of  jollity  by  night," — and  note  the 
loss.  It  would  be  equally  hard  to  give  a  good  equivalent 
for  the  word  "chivalry."  These  words  are,  indeed, 
from  the  French,  but  they  are  from  its  higher  reaches 
of  style.  There  are  occasions  where  one  ill-chosen  word 
would  cause  a  fine  paragraph  to  slump  disastrously. 
Take  the  conclusion  of  Webster's  oration  on  Bunker 
Hill  Monument: 

"Let  it  rise  till  it  meet  the  sun  in  his  coming!  Let  the 
earliest  light  of  morning  gild  it,  and  parting  day  linger  and 
play  on  its  summit!" 

This  beautiful  paragraph  is  built  throughout  of  the 


ENGLISH    SYNONYMS  109 

simplest  Anglo-Saxon  words,  till  at  the  very  end  we 
have  the  word  ' '  summit, ' '  taken  almost  unchanged  from 
the  Latin.  Why?  Well,  try  to  substitute  some  other 
term.  "Summit"  may  be  defined  as  top,  peak,  or  apex. 
Which  of  these  could  we  use  ?  To  say,  Let  parting  day 
linger  and  play  on  its  top,  would  destroy  the  magic  of 
the  noble  conclusion,  and  fall  little  short  of  making  it 
ludicrous.  In  the  same  orator's  grand  tribute  to  Massa- 
chusetts, in  his  reply  to  Hayne,  he  says : 

"There  is  her  history;  the  world  knows  it  by  heart.  The 
past,  at  least,  is  secure.  TEere  is  Boston,  and  Concord,  and 
Lexington,  and  Bunker  Hill;  and  there  they  will 'remain 
forever." 

Suppose  we  substitute  a  common  phrase  for  those  last 
two  words,  and  make  the  sentence  end,  ' '  and  there  they 
will  always  stay."  We  have  not  changed  the  meaning, 
but  we  have  spoiled  the  entire  effect. 

But  this  seeking  for  dignity  must  be  subject  to  the 
requirements  of  good  sense  and  of  cultured  taste. 
Otherwise  it  will  become  pretentious  and  stilted.  Some 
of  the  greatest  thoughts  require,  even  because  of  their 
greatness,  the  very  simplest  words.  Here  only  the  mas- 
ter of  language  knows  how  adequately  to  choose. 

In  Macaulay's  famed  description  of  the  Puritan,  in 
his  ' '  Essay  on  Milton, ' '  occurs  the  following  passage : 

"Thus  the  Puritan  was  made  up  of  two  different  men,  the 
one  all  self-abasement,  penitence,  gratitude,  passion,  the 
other  proud,  calm,  inflexible,  sagacious.  He  prostrated  him- 
self in  the  dust  before  his  Maker:  but  he  set  his  foot  on  the 
neck  of  his  king." 

Note  how  the  Latin  words  predominate  in  the  array 
of  the  abstract  and  spiritual  elements  of  character, — 
self-abasement,  penitence,  gratitude,  passion, — inflexible, 


110  EXPKESSIVE    ENGLISH 

sagacious.  We  would  not  change  a  word  of  them.  They 
give  to  the  paragraph  a  noble  elevation,  fitting  to  the 
type  of  character  portrayed.  We  come  then  to  a  con- 
crete act,  though  of  tremendous  significance,  and  this  is 
stated  in  the  very  plainest  Anglo-Saxon  words, — "he 
set  his  foot  on  the  neck  of  his  king."  It  comes  like  the 
stroke  of  the  headsman's  axe,  sharp,  final,  resistless. 
We  would  not  change  a  word  of  that.  But  how  is  one 
to  know  which  words  are  best  at  any  given  time?  Use 
your  best  endeavors  to  become  a  master  of  language. 
Then  you  will  know,  by  a  kind  of  second  sight, — the 
theme  and  the  occasion  impelling  the  trained  mind  to 
fitting  choice. 

3.  Euphony. — This  may  be  counted  among  the  minor 
graces  of  style,  but  it  is  not  unimportant.  Of  two  or 
more  words  equally  appropriate  in  meaning,  one  may 
be  preferable  simply  because  it  will  enter  a  particular 
combination  with  euphonic  power. 

It  is  comical  to  hear  certain  foreign  actors  or  singers 
who  can  not  speak  English  without  a  barbarian  burr 
that  can  be  recognized  as  far  as  their  voice  can  be  heard, 
tell  us  that  "the  English  language  is  not  euphonious!" 
No  wonder  they  think  so!  In  their  rendering  it  cer- 
tainly is  not.  And  some  of  them  are  teachers.  If  they 
have  to  teach  a  pupil  to  sing  or  recite  in  French,  Ger- 
man, or  Italian,  they  will  insist  on  every  nicety  of  pro- 
nunciation in  those  languages.  But  no  pains  need  be 
taken  to  pronounce  English,  the  language  of  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  millions  of  people!  For  that  a  few 
broad  vowels, — ah  and  oh  and  oo, — are  capital  enough ; 
and  the  patient  English-speaking  audience  read  the 
printed  text  to  find  out  what  is  being  said  or  sung  in 
their  own  language.  On  the  lips  of  one  who  can  speak 
it,  however,  the  English  speech  is  capable  of  great 


ENGLISH    SYNONYMS  111 

beauty.  Its  orators,  and  especially  its  poets,  have  made 
much  of  its  possible  melody  and  rhythm.  Thus  Whit' 
tier  writes: 

"I  love  the  old  melodious  lays, 
That  softly  melt  the  ages  through, 
The  songs  of  Spenser's  golden  days, 
Arcadian  Sidney's  silver  phrase, 
Sprinkling  our  noon  of  time 
With  freshest  morning  dew." 

Again  we  may  note  this  quality  in  one  of  the  two 
stanzas  which  Gray  wrote  for  his  "Elegy"  and  after' 
ward — for  what  reason  no  one  knows — eliminated  from 
the  poem: 

"The  thoughtless  world  to  majesty  may  bow 

Exalt  the  brave  and  idolize  success, 
But  more  to  innocence  their  safety  owe 

Than  power  or  genius  ere  conspired  to  bless." 

Much  of  the  charm  of  Milton's  poetry  is  in  its  eu- 
phonic power,  as  in  the  following  from  ' '  Paradise  Lost : ' ' 

"Heaven  opened  wide 

Her  ever-during  gates,  harmonious  sound, 
On  golden  hinges  moving." 

He  knew  how,  too,  on  occasion  to  utilize  the  uneu- 
phonic,  as  again  from  "Paradise  Lost"  (Bk.  II)  : 

"On  a  sudden  open  fly, 
With  impetuous  recoil  and  jarring  sound, 
The  infernal  doors,  and  on  their  hinges  grate 
Harsh  thunder,  that  the  lowest  bottom  shook 
Of  Erebus." 

But  though  he  could  deal  with  horrors,  his  love  was 
for  the  beautiful.  How  charming  are  these  lines  in 
Eve's  evening  talk  to  Adam  in  Paradise: 


112  EXPRESSIVE   ENGLISH 

"Sweet  is  the  breath,  of  morn,  her  rising  sweet, 
With  charm  of  earliest  birds ;  pleasant  the  sun 
When  first  on  this  delightful  land  he  spreads 
His  orient  beams  on  herb,  tree,  fruit,  and  flower, 
Glist'ring  with  dew ;  fragrant  the  fertile  earth 
After  soft  showers;  and  sweet  the  coming  on 
Of  grateful  ev'ning  mild;  then  silent  night, 
With  this  her  solemn  bird  and  this  fair  moon, 
And  these  the  gems  of  heav'n,  her  starry  train." 

—"Paradise  Lost,"  Bk.  IV. 

So  perfect  are  the  lines  that  the  poet  dares  to  subject 
them  to  the  severest  test, — that  of  studied  repetition, — 
and  we  read  them  over  again  immediately  afterward 
with  added  pleasure: 

"But  neither  breath  of  morn  when  she  ascends 
With  charm  of  earliest  birds,  nor  rising  sun 
On  this  delightful  land,  nor  herb,  fruit,  flower, 
Glist'ning  with  dew,  nor  fragrance  after  showers, 
Nor  grateful  ev'ning  mild,  nor  silent  night 
With  this  her  solemn  bird,  nor  walk  by  moon 
Or  glittering  starlight,  without  thee  is  sweet." 

Here  is  just  change  enough  not  to  weary  interest  by 
monotony,  but  the  recurrence  of  a  refrain  so  lovely  that 
we  gladly  welcome  its  return. 

Every  leading  orator  or  writer  will  be  found  to  have 
some  euphonic  standard, — some  rhythm  or  cadence 
which  he  loves,  sometimes  too  much, — so  that  he  tends 
to  return  to  it  with  too  constant  uniformity.  Yet  the 
fact  that  he  has  a  standard  preserves  him  from  harsh 
and  dissonant  constructions  that  would  ruin  his  diction. 
One  great  value  of  the  interchangeableness  of  synonyms 
is,  that  many  a  time  a  word  that  would  make  a  sentence 
harsh  and  forbidding  in  tone  may  be  replaced  by  an- 
other near  enough  in  meaning  to  fit  the  sense,  and  yet 
far  more  euphonious  in  connection  with  the  associated 


ENGLISH    SYNONYMS  113 

words;  and  the  utterance  of  the  highest  truth  has  in- 
creased power  when  it  is  expressed  in  words  that  fall 
musically  upon  the  ear,  so  appealing  to  the  imagination 
and  the  sensibilities,  as  well  as  impressing  the  intellect. 
Beauty  is  itself  a  power. 

THE  NON-IDENTITY  OF  SYNONYMS 

This  has  even  a  higher  utility  as  adapting  them  most 
perfectly  to  the  expression  of  thought.  There  is  a  mar- 
velous power  in  that  aggregation  of  symbols  which  we 
call  language,  by  which  something  so  fleeting  and  eva- 
nescent as  thought  may  be  crystallized  into  permanent 
form,  able  to  arouse  in  another  mind  the  same  mental 
activity  with  which  it  left  our  own.  A  particular 
language  may  cease  to  be  spoken  among  men,  becoming 
what  we  call  a  ' '  dead  language ; ' '  but  if  we  can  discover 
what  its  words  once  meant  as  symbols  of  thought,  we 
may  take  some  musty  manuscript,  yellow  with  lapse  of 
time  and  covered  with  the  dust  of  centuries,  and  those 
long-forgotten  words  will  bring  to  us  the  very  thought, 
will  awaken  in  us  the  very  emotion  that  stirred  the  soul 
of  that  author  of  ancient  days.  Critics  may  dispute 
whether  Homer  ever  lived,  but  in  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey 
Homer  is  alive  to-day.  Or,  apply  the  test  of  the  newest 
science;  put  a  living  thought  upon  the  telegraph-wire, 
let  the  rattling  key  click  it  off  over  thousands  of  miles, 
and  it  will  stir  the  soul  of  nations.  But  to  do  this  the 
words  must  fit  the  thought.  In  a  deep  and  true  sense 
they  must  express  that  thought. 

To  such  adequate  expression  the  study  of  synonyms 
helpfully  contributes.  Among  the  qualities  to  be  se- 
cured by  a  comparative  review  of  the  words  possible  to 
use  in  the  utterance  of  a  thought  may  be  mentioned : 


114  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

1.  Exactness. — How  often  do  we  meet  persons  who 
seem  always  incapable  of  saying  what  they  mean?  They 
will  go  all  around  their  thought,  but  never  quite  touch 
it.  They  will  fairly  wrestle  with  language,  till  they  find 
the  wrong  word.  Sometimes  such  a  person  is  dimly 
aware  of  his  own  futility,  and  hints  at  it  by  adding  to 
his  inadequate  words  such  phrases  as,  "you  see,"  "you 
know,"  "you  understand,"  in  the  attempt  to  inject  into 
another  mind  by  suggestion  what  fitting  words  would 
enable  him  simply  and  directly  to  say.  Sometimes  he 
completes  his  blundering  phrases  by  the  addition  of  the 
remark,  ' '  If  you  get  what  I  mean, ' '  thus  implying,  with 
a  fine  instinct  of  impoliteness,  that  he  has  expressed  the 
thought  clearly  enough,  but  the  question  is  whether 
you  have  intellectual  capacity  to  comprehend  it.  Such 
a  speaker  or  writer  reminds  us  of  the  Alaskan  savage 
wrapped  in  furs  and  cowering  over  a  fire  of  twigs,  with 
coal  mines  that  might  warm  nations  under  his  feet.  Dig 
out,  rather,  the  hidden  riches  of  language,  till  every 
thought  shall  find  a  tongue, — the  very  word  or  words  to 
express  its  clear,  full,  and  utmost  meaning. 

When  a  thought  is  expressed  by  some  happy  word  or 
form  of  words,  that  says  all  that  is  meant,  and  says 
nothing  more  and  nothing  different,  the  mind  rests. 
Such  an  expression  is  like  the  perfect  focus  of  a  tele- 
scope, giving  a  clear  image,  with  no  divergent  rays, — or 
like  a  fixed  point  in  a  diagram,  from  which  we  may 
measure  on  in  any  new  direction,  and  to  which  we  may 
readily  return.  This  is  what  Kipling  has  described  as 
"the  magic  of  the  necessary  word."  It  is  of  the  first 
importance  to  provide  good  series  of  words  for  various 
ideas,  and  this  is  not  a  mere  matter  of  phrase.  It  is  a 
matter  of  thinking.  Whoever  will  study  any  good  set 
of  defmitio-'Q,  look  up  the  different  words  in  the  die- 


ENGLISH    SYNONYMS  115 

tionary,  and  see  where  they  agree  and  where  they  divide, 
will  define  his  own  ideas.  He  will  lay  off  the  territory  of 
his  own  thought,  and  it  will  be  made  new  as  an  expanse 
of  ground  is  after  the  surveyor  has  been  over  it.  He 
will  know  how  many  acres  it  contains,  and  in  what  direc- 
tions of  the  compass  they  lie,  and  where  the  woodland  is, 
and  where  the  pastures,  the  streams,  and  the  meadows 
are.  When  you  have  laid  out  and  measured  the  territory 
of  thought,  you  will  be  able  after  that  to  traverse  it  with 
a  readiness  and  certainty  that  could  never  otherwise  be 
attained.  A  century  ago  the  maps  of  Africa  had  in  the 
center  a  vast  blank  space,  across  which  was  printed  with 
great  letters  in  a  waving  line, ' '  Mountains  of  the  Moon. ' ' 
Now  we  trace  there  the  course  of  the  mighty  Congo,  and 
the  outline  of  those  great  lakes,  the  Albert  and  Victoria 
Nyanzas,  and  the  boundaries  of  the  colonies  that  power- 
ful European  nations  have  established  within  that  once 
uncharted  space. 

The  center  of  many  a  mind  is  occupied  by  some 
vaguely  traced  chain  of  "Mountains  of  the  Moon," 
where  exploration,  measurement,  definition,  would  reveal 
available  mental  territory,  within  which  new  and  nobler 
activities  of  thought  might  find  a  home.  In  proportion 
as  you  insist  on  finding  a  distinctive  word  for  each  sep- 
arate idea,  you.  are  exploring  and  mapping  off  your 
mental  territory  for  intelligent  and  profitable  occu- 
pancy. One,  on  the  contrary,  who  is  content  to  use  some 
single  word  for  quite  distinct  ideas,  keeps  his  mind  a 
chaos : 

"—a  dark 

Illimitable  ocean,  without  bound, 

Without  dimension;  where  length,  breadth,  and  height, 
And  time  and  place  are  lost; — 
Chance  governs  all." 


116  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

Poverty  of  language  is  always  accompanied  by  pov- 
erty of  thought.  Do  not  rest  till  you  have  found  a  dis- 
tinct word  to  express  each  distinct  idea.  When  you 
have  found  that  word,  you  will  often  be  astonished  to 
discover  how  the  thought  itself  is  clarified,  made  more 
clear  by  clear  expression.  That  happy  and  fitting  term 
will  many  a  time  be  a  gateway,  beyond  which  new  vistas 
of  thought  expand  before  you.  You  have  enriched  your 
own  mind  and  increased  your  own  capacity  of  thinking 
by  fitting  and  appropriate  expression  of  thought.  Thus 
Burke  says  in  his  speech,  "On  Conciliation  with 
America ' ' : 

"They  [the  American  colonies]  complain  that  they  are 
taxed  without  their  consent:  you  answer  that  you  will  fix 
the  sum  at  which  they  shall  be  taxed.  That  is,  you  give 
them  the  very  grievance  for  the  remedy." 

"Grievance"  is  there  the  one  very  word  for  the 
thought  to  be  expressed,  and,  turn  as  you  will,  you  will 
find  it  hard  to  substitute  any  other  which  shall  be  ade- 
quate. 

When,  in  the  great  speech  in  Faneuil  Hall  which  laid 
the  foundation  of  his  fame,  the  young  orator,  Wendell 
Phillips,  said: 

"I  thought  those  pictured  lips  would  have  broken  into 
voice  to  rebuke  the  recreant  American — the  slanderer  of  the 
dead,—" 

that  word  "rebuke"  was  the  one  word  for  the  occasion. 
Sometimes  in  writing  you  catch  a  word  that  does  not 
satisfy  you.  Perhaps  it  suggests  what  you  want,  but 
does  not  fully  express  your  meaning.  Perhaps  it  sug- 
gests what  you  do  not  want.  You  feel  uncomfortable 
over  it.  Often  in  conversation  one  pauses  and  hesitates, 
— he  is  not  saying  just  what  he  wants  to  say  by  the 


ENGLISH   SYNONYMS  117 

only  word  that  rises  to  his  lips.  Or  perhaps  you  are 
not  sure  which  of  two,  or  even  three,  words  is  the  one 
you  want.  Now,  how  to  manage  them.  You  are  writing, 
perhaps  in  a  hurry,  or  in  some  great  stress  of  excite- 
ment. All  the  best  writing  is  done  under  stress.  When 
the  thought  is  looming  ahead,  the  pen  can  not  possibly 
be  fast  enough  to  keep  up  with  it,  and  there  is  danger 
lest  it  slip  away  before  you  can  fix  it  upon  the  page. 
At  such  a  time  shall  you  lay  aside  your  writing,  and  go 
to  the  dictionary  or  the  book  of  synonyms,  to  wrestle 
with  a  word?  That  is  a  ruinous  method,  sure  to  produce 
a  wooden  style.  By  the  time  you  have  done  that,  the 
heat  and  glow  of  your  writing  will  be  gone,  and  your 
vivid  interest  in  the  subject  dulled  or  deadened.  You 
have  exchanged  the  telescope  for  the  microscope,  and 
the  landscape  has  vanished.  Do  not  stop  a  moment.  On 
the  other  hand,  do  not  let  it  go  at  random,  so  that  the 
doubtful  or  inadequate  word  shall  appear  in  the  final 
copy.  Write  the  word  that  seems  at  the  moment  most 
nearly  suitable,  and  then  underscore  it  with  a  wave-line, 
or  mark  it  with  an  accountant's  check.  Later,  in  your 
revision  you  may  deal  adequately  and  deliberately  with 
that  single  item  of  style.  If  the  choice  is  between  two 
words,  as  "armistice"  and  "truce,"  it  may  be  well  to 
write  them  both.  Put ' '  armistice, ' '  for  instance,  in  your 
text,  and  enter  after  it  in  parenthesis  or  in  the  margin 
("truce"), — and  go  on.  In  your  revision  your  atten- 
tion will  be  recalled  to  such  items  by  your  warning 
notes,  and  in  the  revision  you  are  master  of  the  situa- 
tion. What  you  have  written  is  nailed  down,  and  can 
not  get  away  from  you.  You  are  then  able  to  descend 
upon  the  doubtful  items  with  your  book  of  synonyms 
and  your  dictionary,  and  so  make  the  choice  of  words 
more  nearly  suitable  to  the  demands  of  the  occasion. 


118  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

2.  Delicacy  of  Discrimination. — As  you  view  one  of 
the  paintings  that  delight  the  centuries  you  soon  become 
aware  of  the  difficulty  of  setting  limits  to  its  various 
shades  of  color.  The  sky  is  blue,  but  it  is  not  all  the 
same  blue.  Where  does  it  begin  to  lighten  or  deepen? 
Here  is  a  rich  red  robe  falling  in  careless  folds  around 
a  figure,  but  it  is  a  different  red,  according  to  each  gra- 
dation of  light  or  shadow.  The  green  of  the  forest  trees 
proves  to  be  of  many  shades  and  hues,  all  subtly  blend- 
ing into  one. 

At  various  points  in  some  great  gallery  you  will  see 
artists'  easels,  where  copyists  are  working  with  feverish 
haste  to  reproduce  the  masterpiece  before  them.  They 
are  painting  mechanically.  There  is  red,  and  they  put 
on  red;  there  is  blue,  and  they  make  it  one  solid  blue; 
and  when  the  work  is  done,  it  is  oftenest  a  travesty, 
rather  than  a  copy  of  the  world-renowned  painting. 
The  master,  with  limitless  skill  and  toil,  patiently  elab- 
orated those  infinitely  varying  hues  and  tints  that  make 
the  wondrous  perfection.  So  the  artist  in  language  toils 
laboriously,  and  not  all  in  vain,  to  present  by  fitting 
words  the  infinitely  varying  tints  and  shades  of  thought, 
which  only  the  amplest  command  of  language  can  enable 
him  at  all  to  do. 

It  will  be  seen  on  reflection  that  this  delicacy  of  dis- 
crimination is  but  a  department  of  exactness.  In  pro- 
portion as  the  speaker  or  writer  fits  his  words  exactly 
to  his  thought,  they  will  vary  with  every  modification  of 
the  thought.  It  is  the  sunlight  itself  that  varies  the 
hues  of  the  forest  or  the  sky.  The  artist  but  seeks  to 
portray  upon  the  canvas  what  nature  has  done.  So  the 
power  of  delicately  chosen  words  is  that  they  portray 
with  a  fine  fidelity  the  variations  that  actually  exist  in 
the  world  of  thought. 


ENGLISH    SYNONYMS  119 

We  have  spoken  previously  of  discreet  change  of 
phrase  as  a  worthy  means  of  securing  variety  of  style. 
But  by  simple  faithfulness  in  the  expression  of  thought 
through  all  its  varied  transformations  we  attain  a  va- 
riety that  is  deeper,  more  essential  and  pervading,  than 
can  be  elaborated  by  any  artifices  of  style.  As  scarcely 
any  two  ideas  or  emotions  are  completely  alike,  if  we 
can  find  for  each  an  exact  expression,  our  expressions 
must  be  constantly  varied  and  ever  new.  By  its  fitness 
our  utterance  will  have  the  variety  of  life,  the  sparkle 
and  freshness  of  ever-changing  thought. 

3.  Fulness. — Often  it  is  a  gre"at  study  to  bring  lan- 
guage up  to  the  exaltation  of  thought.  The  far  summit 
rises  beyond  the  clouds,  white  in  the  light  of  a  loftier 
sky.  What  words  may  picture  for  others  the  vision  of 
grandeur  that  the  soul  in  some  supreme  moment  has 
attained?  Many  a  vision  fades  and  dies,  just  because 
no  words  were  found  to  portray  the  splendor  of  its 
glory.  This  is  the  problem  of  the  orator,  the  poet,  the 
essayist,  of  all  who  would  greatly  influence  their  fellow 
men  by  speech.  The  commonplace  is  everywhere.  To 
rise  above  it,  one  must  know  the  words  of  loftiest  range. 

Thus  in  Tennyson's  "Ode  on  the  Death  of  the  Duke 
of  Wellington,"  when  he  would  picture  the  victor  of 
Waterloo  as  he  stood  in  the  affection  and  reverence  of 
his  countrymen,  he  writes : 

"Great  in  council  and  great  in  war, 
Foremost  captain  of  his  time, 
Rich  in  saving  common-sense, 
And  as  the  greatest  only  are, 
In  his  simplicity  sublime." 

"  Sublime"  is  the  only  word  that  could  fitly  close  the 
sketch  of  such  a  character  as  the  poet  has  pictured. 
1 ' Grand, "  " noble, "  " lofty, "  " majestic, " ' ' admirable, ' ' 


120  EXPRESSIVE   ENGLISH 

— all  would  fall  short.  SUBLIME  rises  to  the  supreme 
height  of  greatness.  It  is  all  the  more  effective  since  it 
is  made  the  last  word  in  the  sentence.  William  E. 
Henley  knew  the  value  of  last  words  when  he  wrote  his 
familiar  lines : 

"It  matters  not  how  strait  the  gate, 

How  charged  with  punishments  the  scroll, 
I  am  the  master  of  my  fate: 
I  am  the  captain  of  my  soul." 

The  same  may  be  said  of  the  lamented  Rupert  Brooke, 
the  English  poet,  who  .died  of  illness  at  Scyros  while  on 
his  way  to  serve  in  the  operations  in  the  u33gean  during 
the  early  part  of  the  great  European  war  of  1914,  and 
who,  in  a  poem  entitled  "The  Soldier,"  wrote: 

"If  I  should  die,  think  only  this  of  me: 

That  there's  some  corner  of  a  foreign  field 
That  is  forever  England.     There  shall  be 
In  that  rich  earth  a  richer  dust  concealed." 

That  these  highest  words  may  be  available  for  noble 
uses,  they  must  not  be  brought  forth  on  ordinary  or 
trivial  occasions,  but  be  held  carefully  in  reserve.  Other- 
wise one  comes  to  some  great  occasion  with  no  words  to 
meet  its  demand  except  such  as  have  been  already  pro- 
faned or  belittled  by  ignoble  use. 

There  are  times  for  the  ordinary  and  commonplace. 
On  those  occasions  use  ordinary  and  commonplace  words. 
Your  words  are  fitting  then,  and  you  are  saving  your 
strength  and  the  attention  of  your  hearers  or  readers  for 
something  greater  to  come.  Then,  as  the  plane  of  thought 
rises,  let  the  words  rise  with  it,  fitting  the  thought  still. 
So,  at  the  very  climax  of  your  attainment,  you  have 
other  words,  yet  unused  and  unworn,  that  may  come 
forth  with  their  own  native  force  to  match  the  greatest 
thought  you  have  to  utter. 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE   ENGLISH    DICTIONARY    AND 
HOW   TO    USE    IT 

A  complete  dictionary  is  a  compendium  of  all  human 
knowledge — so  far,  at  least,  as  that  can  be  expressed  in 
the  words  of  one  language.  For  all  real  knowledge  is 
sure  to  find  its  expression  in  words,  so  that  if  we  know 
all  the  words  of  a  language,  we  have  a  general  knowledge 
of  all  which  that  language  can  tell. 

The  making  of  a  dictionary  is  a  vast  undertaking.  In 
the  olden  time  an  English  dictionary  could  be  made  by 
one  man,  with  a  certain  amount  of  clerical  assistance. 
So,  doubtless,  was  prepared  the  first  English  dictionary 
worthy  of  the  name,  giving  not  only  words,  but  their 
definitions  in  English.  This  was  the  work  of  John  Bullo- 
kar,  published  in  1616,  and  entitled  "The  English  Ex- 
positor. ' '  We  know  certainly  that  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson 's 
"Dictionary  of  the  English  Language,"  published  in 
1755,  was  made  in  seven  years  by  that  one  man,  with 
only  the  aid  of  humble  assistants,  whose  work  consisted 
very  largely  in  copying  quotations,  which  he  had  selected 
and  marked  for  them.  In  the  United  States,  in  1807, 
Noah  Webster,  then  forty-nine  years  of  age,  and  distin- 
guished for  a  quarter  of  a  century  as  a  writer  and 
educator,  and  especially  as  the  author  of  "Webster's 
Spelling  Book,"  which  had  come  to  be  used  almost  uni- 
versally in  the  United  States,  set  definitely  to  work  at 
his  "American  Dictionary  of  the  English  Language," 

121 


122  EXPKESSIVE    ENGLISH 

for  which  he  had  long  been  collecting  material.  He 
spent  twenty-one  years  in  all  in  the  preparation  of  hia 
dictionary,  exclusive  of  the  preliminary  work  done  before 
1807,  himself  denning  from  70,000  to  80,000  words. 
Worcester's  "Dictionary  of  the  English  Language," 
published  in  1859,  was  likewise  an  individual  work. 
Since  that  period  no  great  English  dictionary  has  been 
the  personal  achievement  of  a  single  editor.  The  rapid 
advance  of  knowledge  has  made  this  a  physical  impossi- 
bility. The  later  editions  of  the  "Webster's"  diction- 
aries, which  are  new  works  in  all  but  the  name,  the 
''Century  Dictionary,"  of  1891,  and  the  "Standard  Dic- 
tionary," of  1893,  were  each  many  years  in  preparation 
under  the  hands  of  an  extensive  staff  of  eminent  scholars. 
The  "New  Standard  Dictionary"  of  1913  numbers 
among  its  editors  "more  than  380  specialists  and  other 
scholars. ' '  The  ' '  New  English  Dictionary  on  Historical 
Principles,"  published  at  Oxford,  England,  commonly 
called  from  the  name  of  its  leading  editor,  "Murray's 
Dictionary, "  is  a  vast  work  in  ten  volumes,  the  prepara- 
tion of  which  in  its  present  form  has  occupied  more 
than  thirty-eight  years,  while  the  collections  on  which  it 
is  founded  had  begun  long  before  under  the  charge  of 
the  Philological  Society  of  England.  In  every  one  of 
these  great  dictionaries  of  recent  years,  each  department, 
as  of  Zoology,  Botany,  Chemistry,  Geology,  Astronomy, 
Physics,  Etymology,  etc.,  has  been  under  the  charge  of 
a  specialist  of  eminence  in  that  department,  while  an 
extensive  office  staff  of  scholarly  editors,  with  a  special 
bureau  of  quotations,  has  reviewed  and  unified  all  the 
work  of  the  various  departments  and  shaped  all  into 
proper  lexicographical  form.  Not  one  of  the  learned 
editors  could  have  done  it  all ;  not  one  of  them  but  has 
occasion  often  to  seek  instruction  from  the  very  diction- 


THE    ENGLISH   DICTIONARY  123 

ary  on  which  he  has  labored,  when  he  would  know  of 
matters  outside  of  his  own  department. 

The  result  of  all  this  is  that  the  student  should  respect 
the  dictionary.  It  knows  more  than  you  do.  Under  any 
given  word  you  may  be  sure  of  obtaining  a  definition 
prepared  by  a  master  of  that  subject,  and  giving  the 
best  result  available  up  to  the  time  of  going  to  press. 
No  dictionary  is  infallible,  but  any  error  a  great  modern 
English  dictionary  may  contain  will  be  one  that  has 
entered  in  spite  of  all  that  the  care  and  toil  of  a  force  of 
scholars  including  some  of  the  most  eminent  men  of  the 
day  could  do  to  prevent.  The  chance  of  an  average 
reader  finding  such  an  error  may  be  regarded  as  neg- 
ligible. Come  to  your  dictionary  in  a  humble  and  teach- 
able spirit.  If  its  statements  differ  from  your  previous 
belief  or  practise  on  any  point,  conclude  that  you,  your- 
self, have  been  in  error — unless  you  are  able  to  reverse 
its  decision  by  some  other  authority  of  equal  ability.  Be 
sure  that  if  you  do  not  study  the  dictionary  at  all,  you 
are  living  in  a  density  of  ignorance  with  which  you  can 
only  be  satisfied  because  it  is  so  complete. 

"But  the  dictionary  contains  so  much  that  I  do  not 
want. ' '  So  does  the  telephone  directory.  You  are  visit- 
ing or  trading  with  very  few  of  the  persons  named 
therein ;  but  you  do  not  know  at  what  moment  you  may 
wish  to  call  up  any  one  of  them,  from  Adams  to  Zim- 
merman. The  directory  gives  you  the  power  to  speak  at 
will  with  any  one  of  thousands  in  a  great  city.  The  dic- 
tionary is  a  directory  of  words.  Within  its  covers  are 
ranged  thousands  upon  thousands,  waiting  silently,  un- 
obtrusively, patiently,  for  your  summons. 

But  do  not  be  afraid  of  the  extra  words.  They  can 
not  get  out.  Some  persons  have  a  horror  of  the  dic- 
tionary, looking  upon  it  as  a  beehive  from  which,  if  care- 


124  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

lessly  joggled,  swarms  of  unreasoning  words  may  burst 
out  and  sting  them  with  demand  for  instant  utterance. 
Such  a  disaster  has  never  been  known  to  happen  within 
the  history  of  lexicography.  The  captive  words  are  like 
the  Arabian  genii  imprisoned  under  the  seal  of  Solomon, 
powerless  to  escape  until  some  one  releases  the  seal.  In 
fact,  persons  have  been  known  to  live  for  years  in  the 
same  room  with  a  massive  dictionary  without  being  in 
the  slightest  degree  affected  by  the  proximity. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  possibilities  of  the  transfusion 
of  knowledge  from  such  a  reservoir  to  the  receptive  mind 
are  magnificent.  How  often  we  should  be  glad  of  a  wise, 
kind  friend  at  hand  to  explain  to  us  at  any  moment 
some  perplexity  that  arises,  as  a  child  confidently  asks 
a  father  at  any  instant  for  full  information  on  any  sub- 
ject of  human  knowledge.  In  all  his  early  years  the 
child,  by  his  ceaseless  questions,  is  using  father,  mother, 
nurses,  and  friends  as  dictionaries.  In  your  own  experi- 
ence you  come  with  equal  suddenness  to  a  perplexity  in 
your  reading.  You  have  only  to  turn  to  your  waiting 
dictionary  for  instant  explanation. 

A  very  common  way  to  deal  with  such  difficulties  is 
to  "give  them  the  go-by" — pass  them  with  "never 
mind".  Such  apathy  is  characteristic  of  the  vegetative 
mind.  Some  years  ago  a  literary  man  set  out  to  find 
the  cable  power-house  in  New  York,  but  having  failed 
to  note  with  sufficient  accuracy  the  exact  location,  was 
dropped  by  the  street-car  several  blocks  away,  in  a  dis- 
trict largely  occupied  by  foreigners.  Then  began  a  quest. 
Passers-by  whom  he  accosted  knew  nothing  of  the  cable 
power-house.  He  applied  confidently  to  the  drivers  of 
several  delivery  wagons,  who  had  never  heard  of  it.  He 
burst  into  a  barber's  shop,  but  neither  the  barber  nor 
the  customer  on  whom  he  was  operating  had  ever  heard, 


THE    ENGLISH   DICTIONARY  125 

of  such  an  institution.  There  appeared  to  be  no  police- 
man in  that  precinct,  so  that  it  was  impossible  to  appeal 
to  the  majesty  of  the  law.  Yet  all  the  while  he  could 
hear  the  boom  of  the  great  engines  of  the  cable  power- 
house filling  the  air.  At  length  the  explorer  set  out  to 
follow  the  sound,  as  of  a  torrent  in  the  wilderness,  and 
so,  at  last,  by  his  own  unaided  intelligence,  came  out  at 
the  back  door  of  the  building  that  filled  an  entire  block. 
Those  people  lived  in  the  hum  of  that  machinery  and 
never  asked  the  cause.  Perhaps  they  knew  the  building 
by  some  other  name  ?  That  is  possible,  but  by  no  means 
certain.  A  little  later  the  same  investigator  came  sud- 
denly upon  an  imposing  structure  rising  to  completion 
in  lower  New  York,  and  was  at  once  interested  to  learn 
what  it  was.  He  observed  a  man  standing  near  and 
watching  very  intently  the  workmen  who  were  swinging 
a  great  stone  into  place  on  the  cornice.  He  stepped  up 
to  him  and  inquired :  "Will  you  please  tell  me,  sir,  what 
building  that  is?"  The  man  turned  with  a  start,  and 
answered  with  unaffected  surprise :  ' '  Z  don 't  know. ' '  It 
had  not  occurred  to  him  as  a  matter  of  interest  to  ascer- 
tain that  he  was  watching  the  completion  of  the  Hall  of 
Records  of  the  chief  city  of  the  New  World.  Yet  there 
are  persons  who  covet  such  an  apathetic  existence,  suited 
to  the  mind  of  an  oyster  rather  than  of  a  man,  and 
resent  any  attempt  to  arouse  them  from  it.  The  worst 
of  that  condition  is  that  it  is  progressive,  and  that,  with 
lapse  of  years,  tolerated  dulness  develops  into  impene- 
trable stupidity.  Any  shock  or  any  urgency  that  can 
set  such  an  intellect  scouting  toward  its  own  frontiers 
may  lead  it  to  the  discovery  of  unimagined  realms 
beyond. 

The  intellect  needs  often  to  be  roused  to  activity. 
Place  a  wakeful  sentinel  of  inquiry  at  every  outpost; 


126  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

establish  a  picket-line  of  interrogation;  challenge  every 
new  word  and  every  new  fact  with  an  everlasting  * '  Who 
goes  there?"  You  come  to  the  startling  discovery, 
"Here's  a  word  in  my  own  language  that  I  don't  know. 
Isn't  there  some  way  to  find  out?"  Why,  certainly. 
Treat  the  new  word  in  your  own  language  with  the 
same  respect  you  would  pay  to  a  new  word  in  Latin  or 
Greek,  French,  German,  or  other  foreign  language,  if 
you  were  studying  that.  Look  up  that  word  in  your 
dictionary.  Like  a  good  general,  do  not  leave  an  enemy 
in  your  rear  in  the  shape  of  an  undefined  word. 

The  first  step  in  education  beyond  the  primary  school 
is  to  have  a  dictionary.  It  is  one  of  the  most  beneficent 
of  modern  literary  institutions,  and  is  supremely  neces- 
sary for  self -education,  where  one  has  not  the  advantage 
of  continual  association  with  teachers  and  studious  com- 
panions. But  do  not  fall  into  the  easy  delusion  that  "A 
dictionary  is  a  dictionary, ' '  as  some  people  will  buy  any- 
thing called  a  watch,  to  find  that  it  will  stop  at  uncer- 
tain intervals  by  day  or  night,  lose  an  hour  or  two  with- 
out visible  provocation,  and  that  it  needs  to  be  set  when- 
ever you  wish  to  know  the  time  of  day.  A  cheap  dic- 
tionary reprinted  from  plates  seventy-five  years  old,  in 
squalid,  heart-breaking  type,  is  enough  to  wreck  the 
English  scholarship  of  the  most  ambitious  and  long-suf- 
fering student.  Nor  will  a  showy  binding  help  the 
shabby  interior,  any  more  than  a  gold  case  will  help  the 
movement  of  the  timeless  watch.  An  inexperienced  stu- 
dent will  do  best  to  ascertain  from  a  teacher  or  other 
trusted  friend  what  dictionary  is  best  for  his  circum- 
stances and  present  stage  of  progress. 

There  is  much  to  be  said  in  favor  of  the  smaller  dic- 
tionaries. In  the  first  place,  you  will  want  a  small  dic- 
tionary, anyway, — even  if  you  have  the  most  extended 


THE    ENGLISH   DICTIONARY  127 

of  the  great  "unabridged."  You  are  sure  to  need  a 
handbook  of  English,  giving  you  the  substance  of  all  you 
will  ordinarily  require,  and  of  a  size  to  be  carried  from 
place  to  place  in  your  study,  or  from  room  to  room,  as 
your  convenience  in  reading  may  require.  Such  a  book 
has  the  advantage  that  it  may  always  be  taken  on  occa- 
sion to  a  better  light,  and  that  it  gives  you  fewer  pages 
to  turn  over  each  time  you  look  for  a  word.  For  many 
persons, — students,  clerks,  stenographers,  and  others, — a 
consideration  not  to  be  despised  is  that  such  a  book 
will  be  more  moderate  in  price.  But  pay  what  is  neces- 
sary in  order  to  get  what  is  worth  buying  at  all.  The 
abridgments  of  the  chief  dictionaries  have  been  carefully 
made  under  the  supervision  of  competent  editors,  well 
acquainted  in  each  case  with  the  larger  work,  so  that 
the  smaller  book  has,  as  far  as  it  goes,  the  best  qualities 
of  that  from  which  it  is  abridged.  Large  or  small,  get 
a  dictionary  that  may  be  depended  upon  as  accurate 
and  excellent. 

By  one  who  has  a  settled  home  or  office,  and  can 
afford  the  expense,  a  full  or  "unabridged"  dictionary, 
covering  the  entire  range  of  English  reading,  is  greatly 
to  be  desired.  In  a  school,  while  every  pupil  should 
have  his  or  her  own  dictionary,  there  should  be  also  a 
complete  dictionary  readily  accessible  to  all.  In  every 
case  the  large  and  the  small  dictionary  should  belong  to 
the  same  system,  so  as  to  agree,  and  not  conflict  with 
each  other  in  phonetics,  spelling,  division  of  syllables, 
etc.  One  who  has  occasion  to  consult  a  dictionary  in 
school  or  office,  and  also  at  home,  should  have,  if  possi- 
ble, a  copy  at  each  place,  that  there  may  be  no  "lost 
motion".  The  apparatus  providing  the  very  funda- 
mentals of  speech  should  be  always,  everywhere,  and  in- 
stantly available. 


128  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

We  would  even  suggest,  with  some  trepidation,  that 
it  is  a  good  thing  to  read  the  dictionary.  Undoubtedly 
this  will  be  scouted  by  many  as  monstrous.  Yet  some 
masters  of  language  have  done  just  that,  among  them 
Brougham,  Macaulay,  Daniel  Webster  and  Emerson. 
Try  it,  not  with  grim  resolution  as  you  take  medicine, 
but  as  you  sometimes  glance  at  objects  in  a  showcase, 
with  no  expectation  of  buying, — and  often  buy  in  con- 
sequence. You  will  probably  be  disposed  to  skip  some 
dry,  technical  terms,  and  for  this  will  need  no  direc- 
tions. But  it  will  be  strange  if  you  do  not  find  some 
word  to  you  unfamiliar,  yet  so  forcible  and  excellent 
that  you  are  glad  to  know  it;  or  some  new  meaning  of 
a  word  that  you  supposed  you  knew  well,  so  well  that 
you  would  not  have  looked  it  up ;  or  if  you  do  not  have 
recalled  to  your  memory  something  that  you  once  knew 
well,  but  have  been  in  danger  of  dropping  out  of  use ;  or 
have  ideas  that  have  become  vague  and  worn  by  frequent 
handling,  cut  to  sharp  edges  again  by  exact  definition. 
Macaulay  seems  to  assume  that  a  dictionary  is  of  course 
to  be  read,  when  he  speaks  of  Johnson's  as  "the  first 
dictionary  which  could  be  read  with  pleasure."  He  adds 
that ' '  a  leisure  hour  may  always  be  very  agreeably  spent 
in  turning  over  the  pages. ' '  Emerson  writes : 

"Neither  is  a  dictionary  a  bad  book  to  read.  There  is  no 
cant  in  it,  no  excuse  of  explanation,  and  it  is  full  of  sug- 
gestion— the  raw  material  of  possible  poems  and  histories. 
Nothing  is  wanting  but  a  little  shuffling,  sorting,  ligature 
and  cartilage."* 

Horace  Greeley  said  regarding  the  resumption  of 
specie  payments  after  the  Civil  War,  "The  way  to  re- 
sume is  to  resume,"  and  the  event  justified  the  utter- 

*  "Society  and  Solitude."    Books  and  Reading. 


THE   ENGLISH   DICTIONARY  129 

ance.  So  the  way  to  use  the  dictionary  is  to  use  it.  Say 
to  yourself,  "Somehow  I  am  going  to  get  out  of  that 
book  what  there  is  in  it.  Others  have  done  it,  and  what 
they  have  done  I  can  do." 

Much  may  be  done  without  a  method.  Plunge  in 
somewhere,  look  up  something,  then  the  next  thing,  and 
the  next,  and  you  will  ultimately  evolve  a  method  of 
your  own.  Whoever  begins  to  use  the  dictionary  with 
simple,  dogged  determination  will  come  out  somewhere. 
He  will  learn  to  use  it  in  some  way,  even  if  not  in  the 
best  way.  But  some  suggestions  will  help  the  learner 
to  get  the  most  out  of  this  repository  of  knowledge. 

1.  Locate  your  dictionary  so  that  it  can  be  used.  It 
has  been  found  that  the  athlete  who  can  win  the  hun- 
dred-yard dash  can  not  cross  a  large  room  or  climb  a 
flight  of  stairs  to  consult  a  dictionary.  The  most  studi- 
ous woman  will  scarcely  undertake  to  lift  a  twenty- 
pound  dictionary  from  a  lower  shelf  to  the  level  of  a 
table  for  the  purpose  of  consulting  it,  while  for  a  child 
this  is  physically  impossible.  A  handsome — and  expen- 
sive— dictionary  in  several  volumes  in  a  glass  case  in 
a  parlor  will  be  about  as  useful  as  a  cabinet  of  Japanese 
bric-a-brac.  Whatever  an  intelligent  person  really  means 
to  use  often,  he  or  she  locates  so  that  it  can  be  used 
readily.  Do  not  allow  your  fine  dictionary  to  be  like 
the  bow  of  Ulysses,  which,  as  a  critic  shrewdly  remarks, 
' '  was  chiefly  famed  for  the  difficulty  of  using  it. ' '  The 
head  of  a  certain  office  had  a  disputed  question  to  settle, 
requiring  use  of  the  dictionary,  to  which  he  seemed 
unaccountably  disinclined  to  refer.  At  length  he  rose 
reluctantly,  walked  some  yards  to  the  safe,  removed  a 
pile  of  reports  and  some  miscellaneous  volumes,  lifted 
the  heavy  ''unabridged",  carried  it  over  to  his  desk, 
where  he  scraped  a  place  for  it,  and  then  proceeded  to 


130  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

look  up  his  word.  Evidently  nothing  but  dire  necessity 
could  drive  him  to  that  exertion. 

A  large  dictionary  should  have  a  convenient,  acces- 
sible location,  as  much  as  a  cash-register,  as  a  prime  con- 
sideration. Preferably  it  should  have  some  exclusive 
support.  There  are  a  number  of  dictionary-holders  in 
the  market.  The  best  are  of  metal,  adjustable  to  any 
desired  height,  so  contrived  as  to  hold  the  book  closed 
when  not  in  use,  but  to  permit  it  to  be  opened  at  any 
moment  to  any  page,  and  to  hold  it  open  at  that  page  as 
long  as  may  be  desired.  There  are  brackets  that  may  be 
attached  to  the  wall  or  to  a  table  or  desk  for  the  same 
purpose,  and  there  are  revolving  bookcases  provided 
with  a  dictionary-holder  on  the  top.  Cheapest  of  all  is 
a  light  wooden  frame,  such  as  any  one  with  a  little  skill 
in  woodworking  can  easily  make  for  himself,  just  large 
enough  to  hold  the  book  when  open,  and  set  at  the  right 
angle  for  easy  reading.  This  latter  is  a  very  important 
consideration  in  the  use  of  any  large  book.  If  it  lies 
flat  on  table  or  desk,  the  eye,  as  it  travels  down  the 
page,  must  be  continually  adjusting  itself  to  a  new  focus, 
and  the  reader  becomes  tired  without  knowing  why. 
Thus  a  new  trap  is  set  for  laziness.  Such  a  book  should 
be  held  by  some  means  at  an  angle  of  about  forty-five 
degrees,  as  one  unconsciously  holds  a  newspaper;  then 
the  eye  reads  with  a  constant  focus,  and  with  the  mini- 
mum of  fatigue. 

The  small  dictionary  has  tricks  of  its  own.  It  may 
abscond  into  a  seldom-used  room ;  it  may  hide  among  a 
quantity  of  books  and  papers,  from  which  the  labor  of 
unearthing  it  is  more  than  the  exertion  of  using  it  after 
it  is  found.  The  small  dictionary  must  be  assigned  a 
well-known  and  convenient  place,  to  which  it  shall  be 
regularly  and  continually  returned.  If  various  mem- 


THE   ENGLISH   DICTIONARY  131 

bers  of  the  same  family  wish  to  use  the  same  dictionary, 
they  should  be  provided  with  separate  copies.  Have  a 
down-stairs  and  an  up-stairs  copy,  for  instance,  each 
kept  where  it  can  always  be  found.  In  the  office  of  an 
eminent  editor,  when  a  question  arose,  he  reached  out 
without  turning  his  revolving  chair,  and  laid  his  hand 
upon  a  medium-sized  dictionary,  settled  the  matter,  and 
put  the  book  back  where  he  could  find  it  just  as  easily 
the  next  time.  He  could  have  laid  his  hand  upon  it  in 
the  dark.  And  the  shelf  was  in  a  little  bookcase  of  plain 
boards,  such  as  any  good  workman  could  put  together 
in  half  an  hour,  fitted  into  a  niche  close  beside  him.  Its 
merit  was  not  beauty,  but  accessibility. 

2.  Learn  how  to  handle  the  tool.  The  dictionary  is  a 
tool  for  a  lifetime.  Every  good  worker,  in  beginning 
with  a  new  tool  or  apparatus  of  any  kind — a  gun,  auto- 
mobile, typewriter,  sewing-machine,  harvester,  or  fireless- 
cooker — will,  first  of  all,  learn  something  about  it.  Then 
he  may  develop  his  own  individual  way  of  handling  the 
instrument,  but  that  will  be  in  harmony  with  its  original 
construction,  and  vastly  better  than  any  method  he  might 
have  fallen  into  without  study  or  explanation.  Find  out 
all  you  can  about  this  tool  before  beginning  to  work  with 
it.  It  will  pay  you  to  take  the  time  required  at  the  out- 
set. We  will  not  inflict  the  advice,  always  given,  but 
never  taken,  to  "read  the  preface", — but  we  will  say, 
look  it  over.  Find  what  the  editors  and  publishers  think 
they  have  to  offer.  Especially  obtain  a  good  preliminary 
knowledge  of  a  section  dealing  with  ' '  abbreviations  used 
in  this  book. ' '  You  will  not  probably  at  once  remember 
them  all,  but  you  will  know  where  to  find  them.  Then 
turn  back  to  them  from  time  to  time  till  you  know  them 
all.  We  will  undertake  that  many  a  person  who  has 
used  one  dictionary  for  years  could  not  pass  an  examina- 


132  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

tion  on  its  abbreviations  and  arbitrary  signs,  which  he 
has  been  sliding  over,  leaving  unexplored  corners  of 
knowledge,  and  never  quite  sure  what  his  own  dictionary 
was  trying  to  say  to  him.  Till  you  understand  its  sys- 
tem, a  book  is  never  all  your  own. 

3.  Learn  the  geography  of  your  dictionary — so  that 
you  can  travel  through  it  freely.  If  it  has,  as  most  of 
such  works  now  have,  a  thumb-index,  practise  the  use  of 
that.  Apply  a  little  intelligence  to  the  mechanism. 
Study  the  space  occupied  by  the  various  letters.  Thus, 
in  the  Standard  Dictionary,  A  occupies  149  pages; 
B,  111  pages;  C,  202  pages;  A,  B,  and  C  together,  a 
little  less  than  one-fourth  of  the  total  number  of  pages 
in  that  dictionary.  On  the  other  hand,  J  occupies  16 
pages  only ;  K  includes  17 ;  Y,  6 ;  Z,  7,  and  X,  2.  The 
first  twelve  letters,  A  to  L  (inclusive)  occupy  almost 
one-half  the  space  given  to  the  entire  alphabet.  If  you 
open  the  book  in  the  middle,  you  will  come  almost 
exactly  to  the  beginning  of  M.  Learn  what  we  may  call 
"the  sub-alphabet  system,"  by  the  second,  third,  and 
subsequent  letters  of  words,  so  that  you  think  instantly 
that  cor  comes  after  car,  and  that  cur  comes  a  long  way 
after  both.  Not  every  word  in  C,  for  instance,  will  be 
found  close  to  the  marginal  C  of  the  thumb-index,  and 
if  you  want  a  word  near  the  end  of  the  list  under  C, 
there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  begin  at  cab,  and  sol- 
emnly turn  over  two  hundred  pages  to  find  your  way 
to  czar.  You  know  that  a  word  in  Cz  must  be  almost 
at  the  end  of  the  C  alphabet.  Open  at  D  of  your  thumb- 
index,  and  czar  will  probably  be  directly  before  your 
eyes  at  the  end  of  C.  By  this  preliminary  knowledge 
of  the  relative  space  occupied  by  the  various  letters, 
ready  familiarity  with  sub-alphabeting,  and  a  deft  use  of 
the  thumb-index,  you  can  soon  make  the  book  obey  your 


THE    ENGLISH    DICTIONARY  133 

hand  and  answer  to  your  thought.  Practise  a  little  in 
quick  turning  to  various  letters.  This  will  speedily 
become  automatic.  You  will  be  saved  from  the  night- 
mare feeling  that  you  have  that  whole  book  in  solution, 
to  deal  with  all  at  once  when  you  want  only  one  little 
word ;  and  you  will  gain  the  pleasure  that  always  comes 
with  easy  control  of  mechanism. 

4.  Learn  the  phonetic  system  of  your  dictionary. 
This  will  almost  certainly  differ  from  the  phonetic  sys- 
tem of  any  other  dictionary.  Each  work  has  its  own 
special  set  of  symbols  for  denoting  the  same  sounds.  If 
you  do  not  know  the  system  of  your  book,  you  will  be 
as  helpless  as  one  who  should  try  to  talk  Dutch  in  Paris. 
As  you  expect  to  make  yourself  at  home  in  your  dic- 
tionary, take  pains  to  learn  its  language  of  symbols  or 
diacritics.  Go  through  its  entire  phonetic  key  at  least 
once,  pronouncing  the  letters  in  the  easy  specimen  words 
given.  Make  sure  how  your  own  dictionary  distinguishes 
the  sound  of  a  in  at,  for  instance,  from  the  sound  of 
a  in  all.  You  will  then  speedily  fix  the  system  in  mind 
by  referring  as  occasion  arises,  either  to  the  full  pro- 
nouncing key  or  to  the  abbreviated  key  repeated  at  the 
top  or  bottom  of  every  page.  This  will  soon  become  a& 
clear  to  you  as  if  some  one  spoke  the  marked  word  in 
your  hearing. 

Remember  that,  in  speaking,  the  word  as  pronounced 
is  the  only  word  the  hearer  gets.  How  can  he  tell 
whether  you  mean  fallow,  fellow  or  follow,  seller  or 
sailor,  sample  or  simple,  set  or  sit,  tail  or  tall  or  tell 
or  toll,  except  by  the  difference  you  make  in  the  sound 
of  the  leading  vowel  in  each  case?  Hence,  every  word 
should  be  rightly  spoken.  It  is  true  we  do  guess  out 
much  of  very  imperfect  speech  by  the  context;  but  a 
person  of  any  education  should  be  ashamed  to  have 


134  EXPKESSIVE    ENGLISH 

others  guessing  out  his  utterances  as  those  of  an  ignorant 
foreigner.  Moreover,  mispronounced  words  may  be  mis- 
understood or  absolutely  lost ;  if  you  say  lnor'i-zn,  your 
hearer  may  not  know  that  you  meant  ho-rl'zon. 

Then,  we  owe  something  to  the  euphony  and  delicacy 
of  our  language.  There  is  a  constant  tendency  among 
ill-educated  and  negligent  persons  toward  a  coarsening 
of  speech,  reducing  all  sounds  to  a  very  few,  and  those 
the  harshest,  or  such  as  are  pronounced  with  the  least 
intelligent  effort.  They  speak  the  finer  and  more  deli- 
cate merry  so  that  it  can  not  be  distinguished  from 
marry.  Especially  they  give  in  as  many  syllables  as  pos- 
sible the  short  u  sound,  which  requires  no  distinct  exer- 
tion of  the  vocal  organs,  but  mere  emission  of  breath, — 
the  inarticulate  grunt  of  the  hog ;  they  say  guv'ur-munt, 
sup'plu-munt,  in'stur-munt.  It  is  along  such  lines  of 
ignorant,  indolent,  rude,  or  harsh  utterance  that  the 
degradation  of  a  language  is  wrought  out.  By  such 
means  the  dialect  of  the  lower  classes  in  some  parts  of 
Italy  has  lost  all  the  sweetness  and  music  that  mark  the 
pure  Italian.  One  prime  object  of  education  is  to  resist 
all  such  corrupting  tendencies. 

Note  the  pronunciation  of  every  word  you  look  up  in 
your  dictionary,  however  well  you  think  you  know  it. 
You  may  find  that  you  have  been  pronouncing  it  wrong 
for  years.  You  may  have  been  saying  ad'dress  for 
ad-dress',  ideer'  or  i-deef  for  i-de'a,  i-deel'  for  i-de'al, 
reel  for  re'al,  pome  for  po'em,  po'try  for  po'et-ry,  and 
sat'n  for  sat'in.  It  is  certainly  droll  to  hear  a  student, 
supposedly  acquiring  a  "liberal  education,"  unable  to 
pronounce  in  English  the  name  of  the  language  of 
ancient  Borne,  but  informing  you  that  he  is  "studying 
Lat'n."  On  the  other  hand,  you  need  not  cultivate  the 
false  precision  of  pronouncing  the  t  in  often;  say,  not 


THE   ENGLISH   DICTIONARY  135 

of 'Ten,  but  ofn.  Are  you  accustomed  to  make  any  dif- 
ference in  the  pronunciation  of  the  words  dew,  do,  and 
due?  Your  dictionary  will  tell  you  that  there  is  a  fine 
difference  of  sound  there  well  worth  preserving.  Many 
persons  have  acquired  pronunciations  so  false  that  they 
have  gone  astray  on  the  spelling  of  some  words  in  con- 
sequence, and  cannot  find  them  in  the  dictionary.  A 
story  is  told  of  two  "Western  lawyers  of  the  olden  time, 
who  had  just  installed  in  their  office  a  copy  of  "Web- 
ster's Unabridged".  Soon  after,  one  turned  to  the 
other,  and  inquired:  "Do  you  spell  eque — or  equi — in 
' '  equinomical "  ?  ' '  I  'm  not  sure, ' '  said  the  other ;  ' '  look 
in  the  dictionary."  After  a  search  the  first  said  with 
surprise,  "  'Tain't  here!"  The  second  came  to  help 
him,  but  had  no  better  success.  Then  they  stared  at 
each  other,  till  one  exclaimed : ' '  Well,  what  do  you  think 
of  a  man  that  would  get  up  a  big  dictionary  like  that, 
and  not  put  in  such  a  common  word  as  ' equinomical' ?" 

Sometimes  you  will  find  that  more  than  one  pronun- 
ciation is  allowed,  and  perhaps  that  some  pronunciation 
you  have  thought  erroneous  is  justified  by  good  author- 
ity. A  swift  glance  at  the  phonetics  of  every  word  to 
which  you  open  will  inform  you  of  these  things,  preserve 
you  from  falling  into  ruts  of  utterance,  and  make  mind 
and  ear  delicately  attentive  to  the  acoustics  of  speech. 
This  wide-awake  alertness  is  wholesome,  helping  to  keep 
the  mind  alive,  in  all  its  powers,  as  a  healthy  body  is,  to 
the  finger-tips. 

5.  Note  spellings  as  you  pass — and  with  them  divi- 
sion of  syllables.  This  becomes  very  easy  when  it  is 
habitual.  Observe  whether  your  dictionary  spells  skU- 
ful  or  skillful;  wilful  or  willful;  traveler  or  traveller. 
Observe  whether  you  should  write  etherial  or  ethereal; 
erronious  or  erroneous.  You  will  soon  pick  up  these 


136  EXPRESSIVE   ENGLISH 


things  as  you  go,  with  scarcely  perceptible  effort.  It  is 
astonishing  how  much  can  be  done  by  mere  absorption, 
when  attention  is  once  aroused.  This  is  illustrated  by 
the  familiar  fact  that  you  can  walk  or  run  faster  over 
a  path  which  you  know.  Once  you  had  to  notice  all  the 
turns,  the  stones  and  puddles;  but,  having  at  first 
noticed  them,  you  have  now  relegated  them  to  the  sub- 
consciousness,  and  you  turn  or  step  around  or  over  them 
by  an  automatic  decision  swifter  than  thought.  So  you 
may  make  your  dictionary  help  you  to  unconscious  cor- 
rectness of  spelling. 

6.  Pick  up  derivations.  Observe,  we  do  not  say: 
" study  etymology".  Most  people  have  a  horror  of  ety- 
mology— perhaps  due  to  undesirable  pedagogical  meth- 
ods of  administration.  Yet  an  intelligent  scholar  can 
interest  a  mixed  company  of  young  and  old  in  the  deri- 
vation of  some  one  familiar  word.  The  old  fable  told 
of  a  clock  that  stopped  because  the  pendulum  had  been 
calculating  that  it  would  have  to  tick  31,536,000  times 
in  the  ensuing  year,  till  the  minute-hand  redeemed  the 
situation  by  asking  Mr.  Pendulum  to  ' '  please  tick  once, ' ' 
and  inquired:  "Did  you  find  that  very  fatiguing?" 
The  matter  assumed  a  wholly  different  guise  on  the  basis 
of  only  one  tick  a  second.  It  is  marvelous  how  in- 
geniously the  average  reader  contrives  to  escape  etymol- 
ogies. In  most  dictionaries  these  are  placed  as  chevaux- 
de-f rise  in  front  of  the  definition.  Yet  most  people  do 
get  by  without  even  the  smell  of  etymological  fire  upon 
their  garments.  In  the  Standard  Dictionary  the  etymol- 
ogies are  placed  at  the  end  of  each  article,  after  the 
definition,  and  most  readers  cheerfully  quit  before  com- 
ing to  them.  Yet  it  is  not  very  hard,  and  it  is  interest- 
ing to  note  whether  the  particular  word  you  are  dealing 
with  is  derived  from  the  Latin,  Greek,  French,  Anglo- 


THE    ENGLISH   DICTIONARY  137! 

Saxon,  or  other  origin.  By  merely  glancing  at  such 
items  in  passing  one  may  make  a  good  English  diction- 
ary largely  supply  the  want  of  a  knowledge  of  Latin, 
Greek,  or  other  languages  that  have  contributed  to  our 
own. 

7.  Put  solid  work  upon  definitions.  Many  other 
things  are  important,  but  correct  definition  is  indispen- 
sable, in  order  that  language  may  be  a  medium  of  com- 
munication between  man  and  man.  "  If  I  know*  not  the 
meaning  of  the  voice,  I  shall  be  to  him  that  speaketh  a 
barbarian,  and  he  that  speaketh  shall  be  a  barbarian 
unto  me."  That  for  which  persons  oftenest  go  to  the 
dictionary  is  the  meaning  of  some  word.  The  meaning 
of  words  is  worth  working  for,  because  it  is  the  very 
life  and  essence  of  language.  But  this  solid  work  is  not 
necessarily  hard  work ;  it  may  sometimes  be,  and  no  one 
unwilling  to  do  some  hard  work  can  succeed  in  language 
— or  in  anything  else.  Much  of  the  time,  however,  this 
gathering  of  information  is  fascinating  work.  Here  are 
so  many  things,  not  that  you  must,  but  that  you  may 
know.  Now  is  your  opportunity  to  find  out.  Here  are 
nuggets  to  be  picked  up,  and  you  are  going  to  fill  your 
hands. 

One  of  the  first  things  that  will  impress  you  in  defini- 
tions is  the  surprising  number  often  found  under  a 
single  word.  Of  set  there  are  39  definitions  for  the 
verb,  7  for  the  adjective,  and  18  for  the  noun— 64  in  all. 
The  numbers  vary  in  different  dictionaries,  some  much 
exceeding  those  above  given.  It  is  not  the  long  words,  like 
illimitable  and  interminable,  that  are  hard  to  define,  but 
the  short  and  supposedly  ' '  easy ' '  ones.  Among  those  es- 
pecially difficult  Dr.  Johnson  enumerates  in  his  preface, 
bear,  break,  come,  cast,  full,  get,  give,  do,  put,  send,  go, 
run,  make,  take,  turn,  throw.  Noting  this  abundance  of 


138  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

meanings  will  keep  you  from  the  error  of  the  petty 
critics,  who,  knowing  one  meaning  of  a  word,  insist  that 
its  use  in  any  other  sense  must  be  erroneous.  More  of 
the  puristic  criticism  with  which  the  English-speaking 
world  has  been  nagged  and  goaded  has  sprung  from 
this  source  than  from  any  other.  Here  is  an  author  who 
has  learned  that  administer  means  "to  direct,  manage, 
regulate,  as  a  government  or  an  estate."  Hence,  he  is 
inexpressibly  shocked, — so  that  not  even  shrieking  cap- 
itals can  express  his  consternation, — that  any  one  should 
speak  of  administering  medicine  or  punishment.  But, 
turning  to  our  dictionary,  we  find,  as  definition  2,  "to 
supply,  furnish,  or  provide  with,  as  something  necessary 
or  required ;  apply  to,  or  superintend  the  application 
of;  as,  to  administer  the  sacraments,  punishment,  medi- 
cine, etc. ' '  That  use  of  the  word  seems  not  to  be  so  bad, 
when  we  know  enough.  We  need  to  know  a  word  all 
round  before  we  are  competent  to  dogmatize  about  it. 

One  objector  says:  "I'm  a  busy  man;  I  haven't  time 
to  go  through  twenty  or  thirty  meanings  when  I  want 
one.  I  might  as  well  ring  the  bell  at  every  house  in  a 
block  till  I  come  to  the  right  number. ' '  Even  so,  you  do 
have  time  to  note  whether  there  are  other  houses  in  that 
block,  or  only  vacant  lots.  Do  as  much  for  your  dic- 
tionary. By  the  swiftest  glance  you  may  notice,  if  you 
only  will  notice,  ' '  How  many  meanings  that  word  has ! ' ' 
You  snatch  the  one  you  want  on  the  instant.  But  an 
intelligent  curiosity  is  aroused,  and  on  more  leisure  you 
come  back  to  study  that  list  through.  You  will  find  it 
interesting  to  ascertain,  if  possible,  how  one  meaning  was 
derived  from  another,  and  how  large  a  bank  account 
that  word  has,  which  you  have  thought  of  as  only  an 
ordinary  individual.  Any  word  becomes  more  to  you 
when  you  know  all  its  resources  of  meaning.  Here  is  a 


THE    ENGLISH   DICTIONARY  139 

crystal  of  quartz,  of  which  one  remarks  that  it  is  a  pretty 
bit  of  stone.  But  hold  it  up  and  turn  it  in  the  sunshine 
till  the  light  is  reflected  from  its  many  faces  and  thrown 
back  from  its  clear  depths,  and  it  becomes  far  more  than 
a  " pretty  bit  of  stone",  as  you  appreciate  its  perfect 
fashioning  and  its  many-sided  brilliancy. 

By  watchful  observation  of  words  you  may  find  that 
your  favorite  magazine-writer  is  using  some  word  in  a 
wrong  sense: — perhaps  that  you  yourself  have  been 
accustomed  to  do  so.  You  may  read  that  "The  earth- 
quake at  Krakatoa  transpired  August  26,  1883."  Now, 
when  an  earthquare  happens,  it  has  no  occasion  to  trans- 
pire, for  it  is  at  once  widely  known  to  a  large  part  of 
the  earth's  inhabitants.  But  to  transpire  is  "to  become 
known  slowly  or  gradually ;  to  exhale,  as  it  were,  into 
publicity."  Thus  it  may  transpire  that  a  supposedly 
wealthy  man  was  bankrupt  at  his  death.  The  use  of  the 
word  as  a  synonym  for  happen  is  a  recent  corruption, 
and  also  unfortunate,  inasmuch  as  we  have  two  per- 
fectly good  synonyms  for  happen,  namely,  occur  and 
take  place,  not  to  mention  chance,  come  to  pass,  and 
certain  others.  You  may  have  been  accustomed  to  say- 
ing that  some  one's  conduct  aggravates  you.  But  your 
dictionary  will  tell  you  that  is  a  false  use  of  the  word. 
Aggravate  properly  means  to  increase.  Disease  may  be 
aggravated  by  anxiety;  but  for  the  sense  of  rousing  to 
anger,  you  have  a  number  of  good  words,  such  as  anger, 
exasperate,  irritate,  or  provoke. 

Look  up  in  your  dictionary  any  unfamiliar  word,  or 
any  familiar  word  used  in  an  unfamiliar  sense.  That 
usage  which  is  strange  to  you  may  be  wrong.  If  so,  you 
will  learn  the  fact,  and  can  drive  a  stake  of  negation 
there.  You  have  settled  one  thing.  That  word  is  not  to 
be  used,  or  not  to  be  so  used.  But  that  usage  may  be 


140  EXPRESSIVE   ENGLISH 

right,  in  which  case  you  have  made  a  positive  increase 
of  knowledge;  you  have  gained  a  new  word  or  a  new 
meaning.  Get  things  settled.  Recognize  the  fact  that 
there  is  ultimate  authority: — that  certainty  is  possible. 
Flee  from  the  cloud-land  of  conjecture.  Banish  the 
dogmatism  of  personal  opinion.  It  is  amusing  to  hear 
a  group  of  persons  disputing  as  to  the  meaning  of  a 
word,  with  a  dictionary  easily  accessible,  perhaps  in  the 
very  room  where  they  are  gathered.  So  strong  is  this 
tendency  to  trust  haphazard  opinions,  that  one  group 
of  students  known  to  the  author  had  actually  to  make 
the  rule  "Never  to  discuss  anything  that  could  be  set- 
tled by  the  dictionary." 

But  do  not  think  we  would  ask  you  always  to  stop 
your  reading  to  look  up  the  word  in  question.  Read- 
ing, to  be  attractive,  or  even  useful,  must  have  some  life 
and  movement.  Read  on.  Follow  the  thought.  Let 
your  word  wait  if  you  can  possibly  get  by.  But  keep 
a  pad  or  memorandum  book  beside  you,  and  swiftly 
note  down  that  word.  By  the  time  you  come  to  a 
breathing-space,  that  word  will  probably  have  some 
companions  picked  up  on  the  way.  Then  concentrate 
your  notes  upon  your  dictionary  until  you  have  settled 
the  last  doubtful  item.  In  listening  to  a  public  address 
a  similar  method  is  practicable.  Have  a  pencil  and  an 
unpretentious  memorandum  book,  and  note  from  time 
to  time  any  word  or  phrase  you  may  wish  afterward 
to  look  up.  It  is  no  discourtesy  to  a  speaker  to  show 
yourself  interested  enough  to  take  notes.  Or,  by  a  lit- 
tle practise,  you  can  accustom  yourself  to  make  mental 
notes  of  matters  to  be  verified  afterward.  One  advan- 
tage of  this  method  is  that  when  you  hear  an  unfamil- 
iar word  or  phrase  in  conversation  you  are  not  com- 
pelled to  put  up  a  signal  of  distress,  but  may  simply  fix 


THE   ENGLISH   DICTIONARY  141 

the  expression  in  mind,  and  at  the  first  opportunity  re- 
sort to  the  tribunal  of  your  dictionary. 

Let  us  consider  for  a  moment  a  single  definition,  and 
see  what  it  contains.  Take  the  following  definition  of 
the  noun  mood: 

"Temporary  or  capricious  state  or  condition  of  the  mind 
in  regard  to  passion  or  feeling;  especially,  inclination  toward 
some  particular  act  or  occupation;  temper  of  mind;  humor; 
disposition;  as,  in  angry  mood." 

"On  all  his  sad  or  restless  moods 
The  patient  peace  of  Nature  stole." 

WHITTIER:  "My  Namesake,"  St.  24. 

Here  are  to  be  noted  four  elements : 

(a)  What  is  termed  the  ''definitive  statement,"  ex- 
tending  to   the   word   "occupation."      This    definitive 
statement  is  the  gist  of  the  definition,  as  far  as  the  edi- 
tor found  himself  able  to  put  it  into  words.     This  is 
always  to  be  first  and  most  carefully  considered. 

(b)  Synonyms.    In  this  case  we  have  three:  "temper 
of  mind;  humor;  disposition."     These  words  are  not 
exact,  but  partial,  equivalents.     For  instance,  "dispo- 
sition" does  not  express  all  we  mean  by  "mood."    But 
it  helps  to  give  an  idea  of  the  meaning  by  suggestion. 
As  a  rule,  such  synonyms  should  be  looked  up,  when 
time  allows,  and  their  definitions  considered  one  by  one. 
When  lists  or  paragraphs  of  synonyms  are  separately 
given,  those  should  be  carefully  studied. 

(c)  The  illustrative  phrase:  "as,  an  angry  mood." 
Such  illustrative  phrases  are  very  carefully  chosen,  as 
giving  the  editor's  idea  of  the  way  in  which  the  word 
defined  may  be  properly  used,  and  should  always  be 
thoughtfully  noted. 

(d)  The  quotation.    This  shows  how  an  eminent  au- 
thor has  actually  used  the  word  in  literature.     Some- 


142  EXPRESSIVE   ENGLISH 

times  a  number  of  quotations  are  given.  In  the  great 
"Murray's"  dictionary  they  are  very  numerous.  These 
are  of  supreme  importance,  as  indicating  the  best  Eng- 
lish usage, — and  the  best  usage  is  the  final  authority  in 
language.  Words  mean  what  the  foremost  writers  and 
speakers  have  understood  and  used  them  to  mean.  We 
might  say  that  quotations  make  the  dictionary: — not 
the  few  that  can  be  actually  printed  within  the  crowded 
space  of  any  single  work,  but  the  multitude  that  have 
been  collected  and  pondered  by  a  long  succession  of  edi- 
tors, each  reviewing  the  results  obtained  by  all  his  pre- 
decessors. 

8.  Make  the  dictionary  define  itself. — The  complaint 
is  often  made,  "Why,  I  don't  understand  some  of  the 
very  words  used  in  the  definitions."  Look  them  up, 
friend!  Look  them  up!  Did  you  imagine  editors 
could  make  a  dictionary  out  of  the  stock  of  words  you 
had  to  start  with?  Of  course  you  will  find  unfamiliar 
words,  but  welcome  them.  Do  not  treat  them  after  the 
fashion  of  trolley-car  operators,  who  regard  stopping 
for  passengers  as  an  annoying  interruption  to  the  com- 
fort and  continuity  of  their  trip.  You  are  after  knowl- 
edge. Here  are  some  new  words  which  you  may  learn. 
Take  them  on  board  right  now.  Go  from  definition  to 
definition.  Run  down  the  meaning  to  its  last  retreat. 
Do  not  hold  your  dictionary  by  one  end,  with  the  lever- 
age all  against  you.  Coordinate  the  entire  apparatus, 
and  make  one  part  minister  to  and  explain  another. 
Thus  every  time  you  turn  to  the  book  you  will  come 
away  knowing  that  much  more.  By  following  up  defi- 
nitions you  will  build  up  every  meaning  with  many  re- 
lations, and  will  call  in  the  great  power  of  association 
of  thought,  to  make  all  better  understood  and  better 
remembered. 


THE   ENGLISH   DICTIONARY  143 

9.  Look  at  the  pictures. — This  may  seem  to  some  per- 
sons a  frivolous  suggestion,  because  they  do  not  under- 
stand the  purpose  of  the  pictorial  part  of  the  diction- 
ary. They  feel,  "We  are  not  children,  to  be  amused 
with  a  picture-book."  But  the  pictures  are  illustra- 
tions as  truly  as  the  illustrative  phrases.  They  are 
carefully  chosen  for  that  express  purpose,  and  are,  in 
actual  intent,  parts  of  the  definitions.  Thus,  it  has  been 
found  practically  impossible  to  define  a  blacksmith's 
anvil  in  mere  words,  so  that  the  definition  shall  describe 
that  object,  and  not  apply  to  anything  else.  But  by  a 
lettered  picture  of  an  anvil  accompanying  the  defini- 
tion all  may  be  clearly  told.  So  most  machines  and 
parts  of  machinery,  the  form  and  structure  of  animals 
and  plants,  of  leaves  and  flowers,  and  a  multitude  of 
other  objects  can  in  no  way  be  so  clearly  defined  as  in 
connection  with  adequate  pictures.  No  words  can  con- 
vey to  the  mind  so  clear  an  idea  of  the  various  orders 
of  architecture,  Doric,  Ionic,  Corinthian,  etc.,  as  can  be 
given  by  direct  views  of  columns  and  capitals,  palaces 
and  temples.  Study  of  the  pictorial  illustrations  of  a 
dictionary  is  study  of  definition  in  one  of  its  most  effec- 
tive forms,  in  artistic  presentation  to  the  eye. 

So  used,  by  one  who  thus  avails  himself  of  all  its  vari- 
ous elements  of  power,  the  dictionary  broadens  the  base 
of  knowledge, — which  is  one  of  the  prime  objects  of  a 
liberal  education.  It  calls  the  mind  out  in  many  direc- 
tions, arousing  and  vitalizing  faculties  that  might  other- 
wise lie  dormant  or  perish  from  atrophy.  It  tends  to 
accuracy  and  definiteness,  not  allowing  the  student  to 
satisfy  himself  with  "about"  and  "perhaps".  It  tends 
to  confidence  and  certainty.  Where  our  dictionaries 
substantially  agree  we  have  a  consensus  of  authority 
reaching  through  more  than  one  hundred  and  fifty 


144  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

years,  counting  from  the  publication  of  Johnson's  dic- 
tionary in  1755.  We  may  trust  something  to  a  century 
and  a  half  of  the  best  English  scholarship.  The  case 
is  like  that  of  our  currency,  where  we  may  rely  upon 
the  stamp  of  the  mint  and  the  imprint  of  the  govern- 
ment printing-office  and  the  approval  of  the  great  bank- 
ing-houses through  which  it  has  come  to  us,  without 
needing  to  weigh  and  test  every  coin  and  put  every 
note  under  the  microscope,  knowing  that  the  chance  of 
a  counterfeit  is  not  one  in  thousands. 

Worthy  of  especial  note  is  the  fact  that  intelligent 
use  of  the  dictionary  tends  to  form  the  habit  of  defi- 
nition, one  of  the  most  important  of  mental  activities. 
A  perfect  definition  includes  all  that  belongs  to  the 
matter  defined,  and  excludes  everything  else.  Every 
time  one  attains  such  a  definition  he  has  taken  a  long 
step  toward  general  clearness  of  thought.  Many  a  fierce 
and  interminable  dispute  arises  because  the  contestants 
are  using  the  same  \vords  in  different  senses,  when  a 
clear  definition  would  at  once  bring  peace.  Many  a 
debate  is  won  by  the  disputant  who  sees  and  holds  fast 
a  clear  definition  of  the  terms  employed.  That ' '  division 
of  the  question"  which  often  clarifies  the  action  of  a 
deliberative  assembly  is  simply  an  act  of  clear  definition, 
separating  propositions  that  were  previously  confused. 
A  clear  style  is  due  to  that  habitual  accuracy  of  defini- 
tion which  leads  the  speaker  or  writer  to  express  at  every 
instant  just  what,  and  only  what,  he  wished  then  and 
there  to  say.  Rational  mastery  of  definition  reaches 
beyond  the  dictionary,  becoming  an  important  element 
of  power  in  mind  and  life. 


CHAPTER  VII 

ENGLISH    CONNECTIVES— THE    LINKS 
OF    STYLE 

There  are  certain  words  that  express  the  great  essen- 
tials of  human  thought,  as  objects,  qualities,  or  actions; 
such  are  nouns,  verbs,  and  adjectives.  Such  words 
must  always  make  up  the  substance  of  language.  Yet 
they  are  dependent  for  their  full  value  and  utility 
upon  another  class  of  words, — the  thought-connectives, 
— that  simply  indicate  relation;  these  are  chiefly  prepo- 
sitions, conjunctions,  relative  pronouns,  and  relative  or 
conjunctive  adverbs.  If  we  compare  the  nouns,  adjec- 
tives, and  verbs  to  the  bricks  that  make  up  the  substance 
of  a  wall,  we  may  compare  the  thought-connectives  to 
the  mortar  that  binds  the  separate  elements  into  the 
cohesion  and  unity  of  a  single  structure. 

The  value  of  these  connectives  may  be  clearly  mani- 
fested by  striking  them  out  of  any  paragraph,  and  no- 
ticing the  barrenness  and  confusion  that  result.  Thus, 
by  the  omission  of  the  thought-connectives,  the  first  sen- 
tence of  the  Declaration  of  Independence  becomes  a 
mere  cipher,  needing  a  key  for  its  interpretation;  while 
by  restoring  them  the  meaning  becomes  luminous: 

The  course  human  events  When    in    the    course    of 

becomes   necessary   one   peo-  human    events,    it    becomes 

pie     dissolve     the     political  necessary  for  one  people  to 

bands  have   connected   them  dissolve   the   political   bands 

another,   assume   the  powers  which  have  connected  them 

the  earth  the  separate  equal  with  another,  and  to  assume 

145 


146  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

station  the  laws  nature  na-      among    the    powers    of    the 
ture's  God  entitle  them,  a  de-      earth  the  separate  and  equal 
cent     respect    the     opinions      station  to  which  the  laws  of 
mankind     requires     they      nature  and  of  nature's  God 
should    declare    the    causes      entitle    them,    a    deoent    re- 
impel  them  the  separation.  spect  to  the  opinions  of  man- 
kind     requires      that      they 
should    declare    the     causes 
which    impel    them    to    the 
separation. 

In  this  brief  extract  of  seventy-one  words,  we  have 
twenty-two  connectives,  which  are  all  necessary  in 
order  fully  and  clearly  to  bring  out  the  meaning  of  the 
sentence.  It  is  the  connectives  that  make  English,  a 
language  in  distinction  from  a  vocabulary.  With  all 
our  nouns,  pronouns,  adjectives,  and  verbs,  we  could 
not  express  a  coherent  thought  of  any  fulness  and  range 
without  connectives.  Deprived  of  such  helps,  all  speech 
would  be  made  up  of  brief,  isolated,  and  fragmentary 
sentences.  This  is  seen  in  the  so-called  Gallic  or  French 
style  sometimes  adopted  on  the  stage  or  in  sensational 
novels :  ' '  He  sees.  He  hears.  He  turns.  He  falls.  He 
dies.  All  is  over."  This  style  may  be  very  effective  at 
moments  in  single  passages,  but  it  wearies,  if  long  con- 
tinued, and  ultimately  disgusts.  As  has  been  well  said 
by  an  eminent  critic :  * 

"No  man  can  be  supremely  eloquent  in  laconics.  You 
cannot  express  the  rising  and  the  expanding  and  the  sweep 
and  the  circling  of  eloquent  feeling  in  a  style  resembling 
that  which  seamen  call  'a  chopping  sea.'  For  such  thinking 
you  must  have  at  command  a  style  of  which  an  oceanic 
ground-swell  or  the  Gothic  interweaving  of  forest  trees  is 
the  more  becoming  symbol.  In  the  construction  of  such  a 
style,  you  must  use  connective  words,  links  elaborately 

*  AUSTIN  PHELPS:  "English  Style  in  Public  Discourse." 


ENGLISH    CONNECTIVES  147 

forged,  inserted  in  the  right  joints  of  style,  to  make  them 
flexible  without  loss  of  compactness.  One  word  of  such 
exact  connective  force  in  the  right  place,  with  the  right 
surroundings  before  and  after,  may  make  all  the  difference 
between  the  disjointed  and  the  linked  style." 

These  connective  words,  "links  elaborately  forged" 
through  centuries,  are  worthy  of  thorough  and  careful 
consideration  such  as  students  of  language  rarely  ac- 
cord them.  In  the  continuous,  connected  style,  the 
hearer  or  reader  is  privileged  to  advance  along  a  firm, 
free  path,  instead  of  jumping  from  stepping-stone  to 
stepping-stone,  with  many  a  risk  of  falling  between. 
An  incidental  but  important  result  of  the  endeavor  to 
make  the  connection  of  thought  clear  to  the  person  ad- 
dressed is,  that  it  compels  the  speaker  or  writer  to  make 
the  connection  clear  to  himself, — sometimes  to  ascertain 
whether  there  is  any  connection.  If  there  is,  it  still  be- 
comes necessary  to  consider  whether  the  ideas  are  re- 
lated by  similarity  of  nature,  by  succession  in  time,  by 
the  principle  of  cause  and  effect,  or  otherwise, — in  order 
that  one  may  know  what  connective  word  to  employ. 
Careful  connection  thus  tends  to  clear  thinking.  The 
gain  so  made  is  inestimable.  Discourse  loosely  jumbled 
together  differs  from  that  compactly  and  skilfully 
joined  as  a  tangle  of  loose  threads  differs  from  a  woven 
garment,  or  a  heap  of  steel-filings  from  a  cannon-shot. 

The  English  connectives  have  never  yet  been  treated 
in  their  full  range  and  extent,  chiefly  for  the  reason 
that  their  various  uses  are  so  many,  and  the  shades  of 
distinction  between  them  often  so  fine,  as  to  make  it 
impossible  to  cover  them  all  in  any  work  of  moderate 
size.  Most  of  the  great  dictionaries,  as  "The  New  Eng- 
lish Dictionary"  (also  called  "Murray's"  or  "The  Ox- 
ford Dictionary"),  the  "Century,"  the  "Standard," 


148  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

and  "Webster's  International,"  give  many  notes  of  the 
prepositions  used  in  various  relations,  especially  after 
verbs,  in  connection  with  the  definition  of  each  particu- 
lar verb;  as,  "to  rely  on  or  upon,"  etc.  Maetzner's 
"English  Grammar"  gives  several  hundred  pages  to 
the  treatment  of  connectives,  with  numerous  illustrative 
quotations.  Goold  Brown,  in  his  ' '  Grammar  of  English 
Grammars",  devotes  much  space  to  the  treatment  of 
these  parts  of  speech.  Fallows'  "100,000  Synonyms 
and  Antonyms"  introduces  twenty-six  pages  of  very 
clear  and  interesting  explanations  of  various  uses  of 
prepositions.  ' '  Connectives  of  English  Speech, "  *  by 
the  present  author,  discusses  very  fully  the  uses  of 
these  important  words,  and  supplies  very  numerous 
quotations  showing  their  actual  employment  in  the  best 
English  literature. 

But  all  such  helps  are  only  partial.  The  most  that 
they  can  do  is  to  make  clear  the  chief  lines  of  meaning 
of  the  various  connectives  and  their  ordinary  use  to 
express  the  principal  relations  which  they  indicate.  Be- 
yond this  are  a  multitude  of  exceptional  yet  approved 
uses,  which  can  only  be  learned  as  we  learn  the  faces  of 
friends  and  acquaintances,  clearly  identified  through 
all  varieties  of  expression  which  they  may  assume  as 
influenced  by  the  varying  interests  or  emotions  of  life. 
Rules,  definitions,  and  explanations  can  but  start  us 
upon  true  lines  of  differentiation.  Then,  beyond  all 
these,  we  must  depend  upon  the  sympathetic  and  watch- 
ful study  of  the  best  literature  of  our  language,  and 
upon  listening  to  the  best  speakers,  both  in  conversa- 
tion and  in  public  address,  to  give  the  eye  and  ear  the 

*  Connectives  of  English  Speech.  —  The  Correct  Usage  of 
Prepositions,  Conjunctions.  Relative  Pronouns  and  Adverbs  Ex- 
plained and  Illustrated.  By  James  C.  Fernald,  L.H.D.  Funk  & 
Wagnalls  Company,  New  York. 


ENGLISH   CONNECTIVES  149 

sure  recognition  of  the  appropriate  connective  and  the 
swift,  instinctive  feeling  of  its  fitness  in  any  one  of  the 
innumerable  exigencies  of  English  speech. 

PREPOSITIONS 

These  are  not,  by  many  persons,  thought  of  as  con- 
nectives. The  old-time  grammarians  looked  only  to  the 
relation  of  the  preposition  to  the  word  following  it. 
Hence  they  disposed  of  it  by  the  statement  that  "A 
preposition  governs  a  noun  or  pronoun  in  the  objective 
case."  This  is  a  rule  derived  from  the  Latin  and  Greek 
languages,  where  the  preposition  may  be  said  to  ''gov- 
ern" a  following  noun  or  pronoun,  because  it  requires  a 
change  of  form  of  that  noun  or  pronoun  into  the  geni- 
tive, dative,  accusative,  or  other  case.  But  no  such  rule 
holds  in  the  case  of  any  English  noun,  since  the  noun 
undergoes  no  change  of  form,  whether  it  is  the  subject 
or  the  object  of  a  verb,  or  the  object  of  a  preposition. 
In  a  few  pronouns,  indeed,  a  change  of  form  appears, 
so  that  7,  we,  thou,  Tie,  she,  they,  or  who,  becomes  me, 
ws,  thee,  him,  her,  them,  or  whom  when  used  as  the  ob- 
ject of  a  verb  or  of  a  preposition.  But  apart  from  this 
little  list  of  pronouns,  the  preposition  has  no  effect  what- 
ever upon  the  word  it  is  said  to  "govern," — except  to 
show  the  relation  of  that  word  to  some  other  word, 
which  ordinarily  precedes  it  in  the  sentence.  The  word 
preceding  the  preposition,  either  in  place  or  in  thought, 
and  to  which  it  refers  back,  is  fittingly  called  its  ante- 
cedent. 

In  the  use  of  the  preposition  the  word  or  phrase  that 
precedes  it  in  construction, — its  antecedent, — is  as  im- 
portant as  that  which  follows, — its  so-called  object.  If 
we  say,  "to  New  York,"  the  question  at  once  arises, 
"WHAT  to  New  York."  Is  it  the  ROAD  to  New  York, 


150  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

the  TRAIN  to  New  York,  the  MAIL  to  New  York,  or  is 
someone  sending  or  going  to  New  York.  That  prepo- 
sition to  is  meaningless,  until  we  know  what  comes  be- 
fore it  in  speech  or  thought.  So,  in  every  possible  case, 
the  preposition  points  backward  as  well  as  forward.  Its 
least  office  is  to  limit  the  use  of  the  word  that  follows  it. 
Its  chief  value  is  in  showing  the  relation  of  that  word 
to  some  preceding  term,  thus  binding  the  words  to- 
gether into  that  unity  of  thought  that  makes  possible 
the  coherent  sentence.  The  preposition  is  a  relation- 
word,  and  thus  a  true  connective. 

A  true  analysis  of  the  force  of  this  part  of  speech 
shows  that  its  very  name  is  a  misnomer.  The  old  Latin 
grammarians  named  it  from  an  accidental  quality.  Be- 
cause in  Latin  it  must  precede  the  word  which  it  is  said 
to  ' '  govern, ' '  they  recognized  this  fact  alone,  and  called 
it  from  the  Latin  pre-,  "before,"  and  pono,  "place," 
the  "preposition"  or  "word  placed  before."  Then, 
when  the  attempt  was  made  to  construct  English  gram- 
mar on  the  model  of  the  Latin,  the  scholastic  gramma- 
rians said,  "Why,  preposition  means  placed  before,  and 
the  preposition  must  always  be  placed  before  some  other 
word;  hence,  it  can  never  end  a  sentence."  The  tra- 
dition has  been  handed  down,  and  in  the  schools  of 
to-day  teachers  religiously  insist  upon  the  rule,  "Never 
end  a  sentence  with  a  preposition."  The  schoolboys' 
Anglo-Saxon  language-sense  rebelled  at  this,  and  they 
paraphrased  the  rule  into  "Never  use  a  preposition  to 
end  a  sentence  with."  And  the  schoolboys'  instinct  is 
right.  There  never  was  any  sense  in  the  "rule,"  and 
people  go  on  using  the  prohibited  idiom  every  day,  for 
the  reason  that,  though  English  contains  numerous 
words  derived  from  the  Latin,  yet  the  idiom  of  our  lan- 
guage is  Germanic,  and  the  idiom  is  so  interwoven  with 


ENGLISH    CONNECTIVES  151 

the  fiber  of  the  language  that  no  schoolroom  instructions 
can  get  it  out.  If  there  is  any  usage  a  German  delights 
in,  it  is  to  round  out  a  sentence  with  a  good  vigorous 
preposition.  The  same  usage  has  come  down  through 
English  literature,  and  is  frequent  in  the  works  of  the 
foremost  writers  of  our  language.  It  is  found  in  the 
Authorized  Version  of  the  English  Bible : 

Until  I  have  done  that  which  I  have  spoken  to  thee  of. 

— Gen.  xxviii,  15. 

Shakespeare  uses  it  freely: 

I  have  a  letter  from  her  of  such  contents  as  you  will 
wonder  at. — "Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,"  Act  III,  Sc.  6. 

There  is  no  better  way  than  that  they  spoke  of. 

—Ibid.,  Act  IV,  Sc.  4. 

Benjamin  Franklin  writes: 

Dost  thou  love  life?  Then  do  not  squander  time;  for  that 
is  the  stuff  that  life  is  made  of. 

Three  things  are  men  most  likely  to  be  deceived  in,  a 
horse,  a  wig,  and  a  wife. 

Addison  writes: 

A  just  and  reasonable  modesty  does  not  only  recommend 
eloquence,  but  sets  off  every  great  talent  a  man  can  be 
possessed  of. — "Spectator,"  Vol.  Ill,  No.  231. 

James  Russell  Lowell  says  of  Garfield: 

The  soil  out  of  which  such  men  as  he  are  made  is  good 
to  be  born  on,  good  to  live  on,  good  to  die  for,  and  good  to 
be  buried  in. — "Among  My  Books."  Second  Series. 

If  we  use  the  relative  that,  we  must  carry  the  prepo- 
sition to  the  end  of  the  clause  or  sentence;  as,  "This  is 
the  book  that  I  came  for."  It  would,  of  course,  be  pos- 
sible to  say,  "This  is  the  book  for  which  I  came;"  but 


152  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

then  we  have  not  merely  transferred  the  preposition, 
but  we  have  wiped  out  the  pronoun  that.  The  "for 
which"  style  is  eminently  correct,  but  a  trifle  formal 
and  prim.  In  free,  off-hand  speech  or  writing  "the 
book  that  I  came  for"  is  natural  and  forceful,  and  in 
accordance  with  the  best  usage  of  the  language. 

It  may  be  noticed,  also,  that  there  are  certain  prepo- 
sitions which  join  very  closely  with  certain  verbs,  so  as 
virtually  to  form  compounds,  though  the  words  are 
written  separately;  as,  to  laugh  at,  to  bring  out,  to 
clear  up,  etc.  In  these,  the  preposition  must  always 
stay  with  its  verb,  whether  at  the  end  of  the  sentence 
or  not.  "That  is  a  thing  to  be  laughed  at"  is  good 
English;  "That  is  a  thing  at  which  to  be  laughed"  is 
impossible.  The  virility  and  vigor  of  our  language  are 
shown  in  the  obstinate  persistence  of  this  and  various 
other  forceful  idioms  that  come  down  from  ancient  days 
and  sweep  over  the  prohibitions  of  grammatical  theorists 
like  a  great  river  over  a  dam. 

There  is  a  real  objection  to  a  final  preposition  in  cer- 
tain cases,  but  that  objection  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  preposition.  It  is  based  on  a  principle  that  is  rhe- 
torical and  not  grammatical.  There  is  a  valid  objection 
to  the  use  of  any  small  and  unemphatic  word  at  the 
close  of  a  period,  because  that  is  the  chief  place  of  em- 
phasis, and  any  insignificant  word  just  there  violates 
the  fitness  of  construction.  Thus  the  following  sentence 
is  faulty  in  conclusion: 

"There  is  not,  in  my  opinion,  a  more  pleasing  and  trium- 
phant consideration  in  religion  than  this,  of  the  perpetual 
progress  which  the  soul  makes  toward  the  perfection  of  its 
nature  without  ever  arriving  at  a  period  in  it." 

You  feel  at  once  the  drop  in  the  style  when  that  im- 


ENGLISH   CONNECTIVES  153 

pressive  sentence  ends  with  those  two  insignificant 
words  ' '  in  it. ' '  And  it  is  noticeable  that  the  final  word 
is  not  a  preposition.  Rhetorically  we  are  concerned 
with  the  force  and  dignity  of  the  ending,  and  not  at  all 
with  the  parts  of  speech  involved.  Any  other  small  and 
unimportant  word  is  as  objectionable  as  the  preposition 
in  such  a  place.  Such  a  sentence  should  be  recon- 
structed. 

Here  it  may  be  well  to  call  attention  to  an  undesirable 
form  of  construction  known  as  "the  splitting  con- 
struction." Some  authors  would  remodel  the  sentence 
just  given  by  holding  back  the  noun,  and  writing 

"The  progress  which  the  soul  makes  toward,  without  ever 
arriving  at  a  period  in,  the  perfection  of  its  nature." 

Here  the  first  member  of  the  sentence  is  left  incom- 
plete— "the  progress  which  the  soul  makes  toward" — 
and  that  preposition,  "toward",  has  no  apparent  ob- 
ject. You  have  to  hold  your  breath,  as  it  were,  and 
wait  till  the  next  portion  of  the  sentence  brings  around 
the  object.  The  train  of  thought  is  stopped  until  a  new 
passenger  has  got  on,  and  only  then  are  we  permitted 
to  proceed  to  our  destination.  This  style  (the  so-called 
"splitting  construction")  may  have  at  times  the  ad- 
vantage of  great  definiteness  and  explicitness,  especially 
in  scientific  or  technical  statements,  but  it  is  always-, 
somewhat  harsh,  and  preferably  to  be  avoided. 

The  task  of  prepositions  in  English  is  vast,  and  their 
work  incessant,  because  all  that  is  done  by  the  many 
cases  of  nouns  and  pronouns  in  the  inflected  languages 
must  in  English  be  done  for  all  nouns  and  for  most  pro- 
nouns wholly  and  solely  by  prepositions.  For  instance, 
the  Greek,  Latin,  German,  and  some  other  languages 
have  a  dative  case,  expressing  the  relation  of  to  or  for. 


154  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

The  English  has  but  one  little  remnant  of  the  dative,  ap- 
pearing in  such  a  sentence  as,  / 

"Give  him  the  book." 

We  do  not  now  call  this  the  dative  case,  but  the  "in- 
direct object."  That  a  preposition  is  mentally  under- 
stood here  is  evident  from  the  fact  that  the  moment  we 
change  the  position  of  the  words  we  must  supply  a 
preposition,  as 

"Give  the  book  to  him." 

To  express  practically  all  other  relations  of  nouns  or 
pronouns,  which  defy  enumeration,  we  must  depend 
upon  prepositions.  When  we  consider  how  many  are 
these  relations,  and  how  delicate  in  many  cases  are  the 
distinctions,  we  can  understand  the  very  great  impor- 
tance of  the  correct  use  of  prepositions  in  English 
speech.  The  chief  English  prepositions  are: 

About,  above,  across,  after,  against,  along,  amid  or  amidst, 
around  (which  is  virtually  the  same  as  round),  athwart,  be- 
fore, behind,  beneath,  beside  or  besides,  between,  betwixt, 
beyond,  but  (in  the  sense  of  except),  by,  down,  during,  ere, 
for,  from,  mid,  midst  (which  are  the  same  as  amid  and 
amidst),  notwithstanding,  of,  off,  on,  upon,  out,  outside, 
over,  round  (around),  since,  through,  out,  till  (until),  to, 
toward,  towards,  under,  underneath,  until,  up,  upon  (on), 
with-,  within,  without. 

It  is  to  be  noted  that  these  are  all  Anglo-Saxon,  justi- 
fying the  common  statement  that  the  warp  or  main  sub- 
stance of  our  speech  is  Anglo-Saxon.  A  few  preposi- 
tions are  of  Latin  derivation,  as  except,  past,  save,  etc. 
We  might  add  the  Latin  per,  which  is  frequent  in  com- 
mercial use,  and  via.  Of  these  it  is  to  be  said  that  the 
distinction  is  made  that  per  may  be  used  with  a  Latin 


ENGLISH    CONNECTIVES  155 

word  but  not  with  an  English  word.  You  may  say  per 
diem,  but  not  per  day;  that  undoubtedly  is  true  in  the 
first  instance,  but  it  is  not  a  finality.  Per  day,  per  yard, 
so  much  per  hour,  have  become  very  frequent  in  com- 
mercial use,  and  it  is  quite  possible  that  the  usage  of 
per  commercially  may  give  it  permanence  as  an  Eng- 
lish preposition  to  be  used  with  English  words.  But 
the  use  of  per  with  the  object  omitted,  as  "He  gets  15 
per,"  meaning  fifteen  dollars  a  week,  is  simply  and  dis- 
tinctively slang,  and  not  to  be  tolerated. 

There  are  also  certain  participial  prepositions,  as  con- 
cerning, considering,  excepting,  regarding,  respecting. 
Of  these  it  is  to  be  noted  that  considering  is  almost  al- 
ways deprecatory  or  depreciatory.  You  say  "Consid- 
ering his  education  he  does  very  well;"  "Considering 
the  circumstances  I  will  overlook  the  matter."  There 
is  always  something  to  be  abated  when  we  say  consider- 
ing. We  must  now  also  accept  as  a  preposition  the  word 
pending,  though  it  is  really  a  reversed  participle.  You 
say,  "pending  the  receipt  of  orders."  That  means 
while  the  receipt  of  orders  is  "pending";  it  is  some- 
thing you  are  waiting  for.  But  pending  has  been  taken 
out  of  this  connection  and  made  a  preposition,  pending 
the  receipt  of  orders.  Then  there  are  prepositional 
phrases,  as,  according  to,  in  accordance  with,  on  account 
of,  because  of,  by  means  of,  in  default  of,  in  consequence 
of.  These  can  be  taken  to  pieces  and  parsed  as  separate 
words,  but  they  are  almost  always  used  together  and  it 
is  very  natural  to  consider  them  as  phrases  having  the 
force  of  compound  prepositions. 

The  prepositions  are  difficult  to  define,  because  they 
denote  relations  so  elemental  that  it  is  scarcely  possible 
to  state  them  more  simply,  and  it  is  practically  impossi- 
ble to  avoid  using  prepositions  in  the  definition  of  prep- 


156  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

ositions.  Nowhere  does  the  instinct  of  language  count 
for  more.  The  meaning  and  force  of  prepositions  must 
be  learned  chiefly  by  context,  by  constant  association  of 
the  words  with  phrases  in  which  they  are  correctly  used, 
until  the  mind  chooses  right  with  no  thought  of  the 
reason  why.  The  great  thing  that  detailed  study  can 
do  is  to  arouse  the  intellect  to  attention  and  watchful- 
ness to  catch  the  fine  shades  of  distinction  that  are  con- 
stantly flitting  past.  It  is  rarely  possible  to  give  exact 
models  that  can  be  followed  by  rote,  because  on  the  next 
occasion  for  use  the  phrase  is  likely  to  vary.  The  best 
models  become  suggestions,  rather  than  patterns. 

Prom  time  to  time  some  well-constructed  utterance 
shows  strikingly  what  prepositions  can  do.  How  ad- 
mirably has  Byron,  in  his  ' '  Prisoner  of  Chillon, ' '  lit  up 
his  description  of  the  "little  isle"  by  the  fine  choice  of 
prepositions : 

"And  then  there  was  a  little  isle 
Which  in  my  very  face  did  smile, 

The  only  one  in  view; 
A  small  green  isle,  it  seem'd  no  more, 
Scarce  broader  than  my  dungeon  floor, 
But  in  it  there  were  three  tall  trees, 
And  o'er  it  blew  the  mountain  breeze, 
And  by  it  there  were  waters  flowing, 
And  on  it  there  were  young  flowers  growing, 

Of  gentle  breath  and  hue." 

Even  more  strikingly  does  this  appear  in  Lincoln's 
world-famous  phrase, 

"Government  of  the  people,  by  the  people,  for  the  people." 

"Of  the  people": — The  people  are  to  be  governed; 
for  the  order,  safety,  stability,  and  welfare  of  civilized 
society  there  must  be  "government  of  the  people." 


ENGLISH   CONNECTIVES  157 

"By  the  people": — Who  shall  exercise  that  government 
over  the  people  ?  Shall  it  be  some  external  power,  apart 
from  themselves,  and  not  responsible  to  them.  No.  The 
people  themselves  shall  exercise  it.  Not  kings  or  nobles, 
supposed  to  rule  by  divine  right  and  by  superior  excel- 
lence and  power,  but  the  people  themselves  shall  gov- 
ern. Government  of  the  people  shall  be  by  the  people. 
They  themselves  shall  rule  themselves.  "For  the  peo- 
ple":— Not  in  the  interest  of  any  dynasty,  class,  or 
clique,  not  for  the  advantage  of  their  own  chosen  rulers, 
to  make  them  rich  and  great, — but  first,  supremely  and 
finally,  to  secure  the  happiness  and  well-being  of  the 
people  themselves.  This  government  of  the  people  by 
the  people  must  be  in  purpose,  intent,  and  exercise  for 
the  good  and  advantage  of  the  people, — "for  the  peo- 
ple". The  wonderful  power  of  the  statement  is  that 
the  three  well-chosen  prepositions  concentrate  and  mass 
all  this,  so  that  the  mind  sees  it  at  a  glance,  and  remem- 
bers it  forever.  Three  prepositions  summarize  the  phi- 
losophy of  free  government,  and  by  that  summary  have 
become  immortal. 

The  correct  usage  of  prepositions  can  not  be  finally 
determined  by  knowing  their  individual  meanings.  We 
must  know  also,  and  that  by  very  close  observation,  their 
usual  connections  with  nouns,  adjectives,  verbs,  and 
adverbs.  These  are  the  more  perplexing  because  they 
are  subject  to  no  definite  controlling  rules.  A  Danish 
scholar,  learning  English,  wrote  of  a  certain  man,  "I 
am  disgusted  from  him."  On  being  told  he  should  say 
"disgusted  with  him,"  he  resented  the  criticism,  ex- 
claiming, "No!  I  am  not  with  him,  but  as  far  as  I  can 
get  away  from  him; — I  am  disgusted  from  him."  A 
fuller  knowledge  of  the  meaning  of  "with"  might  have 
helped  this  student;  but  if  he  had  been  then  informed 


158  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

that  he  might  also  say,  "I  am  disgusted  by  his  behav- 
ior," or  "at  his  cowardice,"  he  would  doubtless  have 
been  still  more  perplexed.  It  is  noticeable  that  while 
we  use  ''glad  of",  we  say  conversely  "sorry  for,"  or 
"sad  at".  We  speak  of  being  "considerate  or  thought- 
ful of",  but  of  being  "sensitive  to";  of  being  "careless 
of"f  but  "indifferent  to".  Then,  while'  the  negative 
compound  "indifferent"  takes  to,  yet  when  we  use 
the  simple  adjective  "different,"  we  say  "different 
from." 

Some  have  tried  to  establish  the  rule  that  the  Eng- 
lish preposition  following  a  word  must  correspond  with 
any  Latin,  Greek,  or  French  preposition  involved  in  the 
word  as  derived  from  another  language.  This  works 
very  well  in  certain  cases.  Thus  attract  is  derived  from 
the  Latin  ad,  "to",  and  traho,  "draw",  and  we  say 
""attracted  to."  Yet  even  here  we  may  also  say  "at- 
tracted by."  But  abhorrent  is  derived  from  the  Latin 
ah,  "from",  and  horreo,  "shudder",  yet  we  do  not  say 

"That  is  abhorrent  from  me,"  but  " abhorrent  to 

me."  Depend  is  from  the  Latin  de,  "from",  and 
pendeo,  ' '  hang ' ' ;  yet  it  is  only  in  a  technical  or  closely 
literal  sense  that  we  speak  of  one  object  as  "depending 
from"  another;  in  constant  figurative  use  we  say  "de- 
pend on  or  upon;"  "I  depend  on  his  courage  and  loy- 
alty". The  etymological  explanation  breaks  down,  and 
this  is  as  well,  for  etymology  is  too  slow  and  minute  to 
be  a  resource  in  ready  speech  and  writing.  We  must 
know  the  associations  of  prepositions  as  matters  of  ar- 
bitrary, concrete  fact,  just  as  we  know  in  the  alphabet 
that  a  precedes  b,  or  that  y  comes  before  z.  A  thorough 
knowledge  of  the  meaning  of  each  preposition  is  exceed- 
ingly helpful,  but  after  all  we  are  constantly  driven 
back  upon  the  fact  that  a  certain  preposition  is  to  be 


ENGLISH    CONNECTIVES  159 

used  in  a  certain  connection  because  that  is  English 
usage.  Turn  as  we  will,  there  is  no  escape  from  the 
fact  that  English  must  be  definitely  and  patiently 
learned  as  English. 

The  method  recommended  for  attaining  mastery  of 
other  elements  of  English  is  equally  valuable  here,  viz. : 
much  thoughtful  reading  of  the  best  English  authors. 
We  read  not  merely  words,  but  phrases,  and  certain 
phrase-forms  then  cling  to  our  thought,  so  that  any 
other  connection  of  words  would  seem  strange.  If,  as 
may  often  be  the  case,  there  is  a  reason  for  a  different 
connection  to  express  some  varying  shade  of  thought, 
we  learn  that  by  its  very  contrast  with  the  more  famil- 
iar. With  such  reading  is  to  be  joined  the  constant 
hearing  of  the  best  English  speech  to  which  the  oppor- 
tunities of  life  give  us  access. 

The  direct  study  of  these  connectives  is  of  especial 
value  by  the  fact  that  it  calls  attention  to  them,  fixes 
the  mind  upon  them,  so  that  one  learns  to  observe,  in- 
stead of  merely  swallowing  the  correct  style  as  a  thirsty 
man  drinks  water.  It  would  be  well  for  any  student  to 
study  up  one  preposition  in  the  dictionary  each  day, 
noting  all  illustrative  phrases  or  quotations  there  given, 
then  looking  for  instances  of  the  use  of  that  connective 
in  his  reading  for  that  day. 

It  will  be  found  very  interesting  to  study  some  par- 
ticular verb,  noting  the  prepositions  by  which  it  is  com- 
monly followed.  This  may  readily  be  done  by  means  of 
some  one  of  the  excellent  concordances  now  easily  ac- 
cessible. Some  concordance  of  the  Bible  is  now  in  al- 
most every  home.  Concordances  of  Shakespeare, 
Browning,  Tennyson,  etc.,  may  be  found  in  any  good 
public  library.  Turn,  for  instance,  to  the  verb  rejoice. 
You  will  find  at  once  that  rejoice  at  has  frequent  and 


160  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

approved  use.    We  rejoice  at  something  outside  of  or 
remote  from  ourselves. 

Yea,  the  fir  trees  rejoice  at  thee  (the  fallen  Babylon),  etc. 

— Is.  xiv,  8. 

As  thou  didst  rejoice  at  the  inheritance  of  the  house  of 
Israel,  because  it  was  desolate. — EzeJc.  xxxv,  15. 

Or  at  something  which  is  a  mere  occasion  of  joy: 

They  take  the  timbrel  and  harp,  and  rejoice  at  the  sound 
of  the  organ. — Job  xxi,  12. 

Rejoice  in  denotes  intimate  connection,  participation, 
or  sympathy. 

I  will  rejoice  in  thy  salvation. — Ps.  ix,  14. 
For   our   heart    shall    rejoice   in   him,    because   we   have 
trusted  in  his  holy  name. — Ps.  xxxiii,  21. 

The  Lord  shall  rejoice  in  his  works. — Ps.  civ,  31. 

Shakespeare  represents  Brutus  as  making  a  coldly 
logical  speech  at  Caesar's  funeral,  in  the  course  of  which 
he  observes: 

As  Ca3sar  loved  me,  I  weep  for  him;  as  he  was  fortunate 
I  rejoice  at  it. 

— SHAKESPEARE  :  "Julius  Caesar,"  Act  III,  Sc.  2. 

He  fails  to  reach  the  phrase  expressing  hearty  sym- 
pathy. He  does  not  rejoice  in  Caesar's  good  fortune  as 
an  interested  friend,  but  at  it,  as  an  observant  outsider. 
A  certain  church  covenant  has  actually  changed  its  old 
form  that  "we  will  rejoice  in  each  other's  prosperity" 
to  "we  will  rejoice  at  each  other's  prosperity,  and  en- 
deavor with  tenderness  and  sympathy  to  bear  one  an- 
other's burdens  and  sorrows."  The  "tenderness  and 


ENGLISH   CONNECTIVES  161 

sympathy"  would  be  far  better  intimated  in  the  first 
clause  by  " rejoice  in". 

''Rejoice  over"  may  denote  appropriative  or  pro- 
tecting triumph. 

As  the  bridegroom  rejoiceth  over  the  bride,  so  shall  thy 
God  rejoice  over  thee. — Is.  Ixii,  5. 

But  sometimes  "rejoice  over"  may  be  used  to  indi- 
cate hostile  triumph,  as  of  the  warrior  who  stands  above 
his  fallen  enemy. 

Rejoice  over  her,  thou  heaven,  and  ye  holy  apostles  and 
prophets,  for  God  hath  avenged  you  on  her. — Rev.  xviii,  20. 

Sometimes  a  similar  idea,  less  triumphant,  but  more 
sharply  hostile,  is  expressed  by  rejoice  against. 

Rejoice  not  against  me,  O  mine  enemy;  when  I  fall,  I 
shall  arise. — Micah  vii,  8. 

As  in  denotes  the  object  of  sympathetic  rejoicing,  so 
with  refers  to  the  person  or  persons  in  sympathy  with 
whom  we  so  rejoice. 

Rejoice  with  me,  for  I  have  found  my  sheep  which  was  lost. 

— Luke  xv,  6. 

The  object  or  cause  of  rejoicing  may  also  be  intro- 
duced by  because  of,  for, — or  in  the  older  English  by 

*/• 

The  daughters  of  Judah  rejoiced  "because  of  thy  judg- 
ments, 0  Lord. — Ps.  xcvii,  8. 

Jethro  rejoiced  for  all  the  goodness  which  God  had  done 
to  Israel. — Ex.  xviii,  9. 

He  rejoiceth  more  of  that  sheep  than  of  the  ninety  and 
nine  which  went  not  astray. — Matt,  xviii,  13. 

The  verb  wait  may  be  followed  by  for  as  expressing 
expectation  or  suspense. 


162  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

Mine  eyes  fail  while  I  wait  for  my  God. — Ps.  Ixix,  3. 
I  waited  patiently  for  the  Lord,  and  he  inclined  unto  me 
and  heard  my  cry. — Ps.  xl,  1. 

But  wait  may  also  be  used  with  on  or  upon.  In  mod- 
ern usage  this  phrase  wait  on  or  upon  is  so  largely  used 
of  attendance  as  a  servant  that  many  have  come  to 
think  that  the  only  meaning.  But  in  higher  sense  wait 
on  or  upon  is  used  as  expressing  dependence,  confidence, 
trust : 

The  isles  shall  wait  upon  me,  and  on  mine  arm  shall  they 
trust. — Is.  li,  5. 

Art  not  thou  he,  O  Lord  our  God  ?  Therefore  we  will  wait 
upon  thee,  for  thou  hast  made  all  these  things. — Jer.  xiv,  22. 

The  eyes  of  all  wait  upon  thee  (Margin,  "look  unto  thee"), 
and  thou  givest  them  their  meat  in  due  season. 

— Ps.  cxlv,  15. 

The  translators  of  the  Revised  Version  seem  to  have 
almost  completely  ignored  this  English  idiom.  With- 
out attempting  to  pass  upon  its  accuracy  as  a  matter 
of  translation,  it  must  be  observed  that  their  rendering 
has  quite  changed  the  meaning  of  some  important  pas- 
sages. For  instance,  the  Authorized  Version  gives: 

But  they  that  wait  upon  the  Lord  (in  trustful  dependence) 
shall  renew  their  strength;  they  shall  mount  up  with  wings 
as  eagles;  they  shall  run  and  not  be  weary;  and  they  shall 
walk  and  not  faint. — 7s.  xl,  31. 

This  the  Revised  Version  renders  ''they  that  wait  for 
Jehovah."  But  this  attitude  of  mere  expectancy  is  not 
at  home  in  the  passage.  People  who  are  "waiting  for" 
something  or  some  one  are  not  generally  doing  much. 
But  this  passage  is  full  of  vigor  and  activity.  There  is 
nothing  passive  or  lingering  in  it.  Waiting  on  a  divine 
leader  with  trust  and  service  is  more  in  harmony  with 


ENGLISH    CONNECTIVES  163 

the  context  than  waiting  for  him  in  expectation  and 

suspense. 

CONJUNCTIONS 

Conjunctions  may  be  regarded  as  the  simplest  of  con- 
nectives, merely  conjoining  or  joining  together  (Latin 
conjunctio,  a  " joining",  from  conjungo,  "join  to- 
gether") words,  phrases,  or  sentence.  The  joining  of 
words  by  conjunctions  is  much  less  close  and  intimate 
than  the  joining  by  prepositions.  When  words  are  con- 
nected by  prepositions,  the  grammatical  relation  of  any 
noun  involved  is  at  once  affected.  If  we  say,  "John 
went  to  James,  John  is  the  subject  and  James  the  ob- 
ject of  the  action,  or,  as  we  commonly  say,  James  is  "in 
the  objective  case"  after  the  preposition.  But  if  we 
say,  "John  and  James  went  together,"  there  is  no  dif- 
ference in  the  relation  of  the  two  nouns ;  one  is  as  much 
nominative  as  the  other.  If  we  say,  ' '  The  man  with  his 
son  is  at  the  door,"  son  is  in  the  objective  case  after  the 
preposition  and  can  not  be  the  subject  of  the  verb,  which 
is  therefore  singular,  "is".  But  if  we  say,  "The  man 
and  his  son  are  at  the  door,"  both  nouns  are  nomina- 
tives, and  the  verb  is  therefore  plural,  "are".  In  the 
sentence,  "It  is  three  thousand  miles  from  New  York 
to  Liverpool,"  both  New  York  and  Liverpool  are  ob- 
jectives after  the  prepositions  from  and  to,  and  neither 
of  those  nouns  could  be  the  subject  of  a  verb.  But  in 
"New  York  and  Liverpool  are  three  thousand  miles 
apart,"  both  nouns,  New  York  and  Liverpool,  are  nom- 
inatives, and  form  jointly  the  plural  subject  of  the  verb 
are.  The  difference  is  still  more  strikingly  shown  in 
pronouns,  as  "He  and  I  are  associated,"  or,  "He  is  as- 
sociated with  me." 

In  the  joining  of  words  by  conjunctions  the  paradox 


164  EXPRESSIVE   ENGLISH 

appears  that  the  unrestricted  use  of  the  conjunction 
seems  to  separate  the  words,  emphasizing  the  individual 
items  and  protracting  the  enumeration,  thus  making  it 
often  more  impressive. 

O  night 

And  storm  and  darkness,  ye  are  wondrous  strong, 
Yet  lovely  in  your  strength. 

—BYRON:  "Childe  Harold,"  Can.  iii;  St.  92. 

East  and  west  and  south  and  north 

The  messengers  ride  fast, 
And  tower  and  town  and  cottage 

Have  heard  the  trumpet's  blast. 

— MACAULAY:  "Horatius,"  St.  2. 

The  chains,  and  the  bracelets,  and  the  mufflers. — Isa.  iii,  19. 

And  boy  and  dog,  and  hostler  and  Boots,  all  slunk  back 
again  to  their  holes. — IRVING:  "Bracebridge  Hall,"  p.  78. 

For  I  have  neither  wit  nor  words  nor  worth, 
Action  nor  utterance,  nor  the  power  of  speech, 
To  stir  men's  blood. 
—SHAKESPEARE  :  "Julius  Casar,"  Act  III,  Sc.  2,  1.  222. 

It  is  very  noticeable  in  this  last  quotation  how  reck- 
lessly Shakespeare  has  violated  the  supposed  rule  that 
"neither"  can  be  used  to  distinguish  only  two  objects. 
Shakespeare  has  here  an  enumeration  of  six  objects  be- 
ginning with  "neither,"  and  in  which  the  correlative 
"nor"  is  used  four  times  in  succession. 

On  the  contrary,  the  entire  omission  of  the  connect- 
ive seems  to  join  the  words  more  closely,  crowding  the 
terms  of  the  enumeration  together — a  method  forcible 
by  its  very  abruptness : 

Love  rules  the  court,  the  camp,  the  grove. 
—SCOTT:  "The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,"  Can.  iii,  St.  2,1.  5. 

Two  horses  have  emerged  from  the  ruck,  and  are  sweep- 
ing, rushing,  storming,  toward  us,  almost  side  by  side. 

— HOLMES  :  "Our  Hundred  Days,"  Ch.  1,  p.  54. 


ENGLISH   CONNECTIVES  165 

This  method  is  to  be  sparingly  used,  as  its  too  fre- 
quent employment  gives  a  jerky  effect,  and  seems  to 
mark  an  undue  straining  after  force.  The  familiar 
method  of  omitting  the  conjunction  between  all  items 
of  an  enumeration  except  the  last  two  is  very  conven- 
ient and  effective. 

The  Goth,  the  Christian,  Time,  War,  Flood,  and  Fire 
Have  dealt  upon  the  seven-hilled  city's  pride. 

—BYRON:  "Childe  Harold,"  Can.  iv,  St.  80. 

The  mark  is  there  and  the  wound  is  cicatrized  only — no 

time,  tears,  caresses,  or  repentance  can  obliterate  that  scar. 

— THACKERAY  :  "Henry  Esmond,"  Bk.  ii,  Ch.  1,  p.  144. 

A  pleasant  variation  is  often  found  in  joining  the 
items  of  a  series  in  pairs. 

A  fairy  realm;  where  slope  and  stream, 
Champagne  and  upland,  town  and  grange.     .     .    . 
Forever  blend  and  interchange. 

— E.  C.  STEDMAN:  "Bohemia,"  St.  6. 

Conjunctions  connecting  words  or  phrases  must  con- 
nect those  of  the  same  class,  as  nouns  with  nouns,  ad- 
jectives with  adjectives,  etc.  Correlative  conjunctions 
should  be  so  placed  as  to  apply  directly  to  the  words 
that  are  to  be  so  connected.  To  say,  "Not  only  a  man 
rich  but  influential  is  required"  is  both  awkward  and 
obscure;  the  sentence  becomes  clear  when  the  conjunc- 
tive phrase  "not  only"  is  correctly  placed, — "A  man 
not  only  rich  but  influential  is  required."  A  violation 
of  this  rule  may  be  confusing  or  even  ludicrous,  as  in 
the  following: 

"NOTICE— The  Shelleyville  selectmen  have  enacted  an 
ordinance  which  I  am  bound  to  enforce,  that  of  prohibiting 
chickens  from  running  around  the  streets  at  large,  and  rid- 
ing bicycles  on  the  sidewalk.  J.  Lindley,  Constable." — 
{Notice  in  the  Shelleyville,  Mich.,  Star.) 


166  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

Useful  as  is  the  work  of  conjunctions  in  joining  words 
and  phrases,  it  remains  as  one  of  their  most  important 
offices  to  unite  sentences  or  propositions,  sometimes 
uniting  simple  sentences  into  the  greater  whole  of  a 
compound  sentence,  sometimes  extending  their  effect 
across  a  period,  so  that  two  sentences  grammatically  in- 
dependent are  united  as  parts  of  one  continuous  train 
of  thought.  So  used,  conjunctions  have  the  effect  of 
weaving  not  merely  words,  but  thoughts,  together. 
Here  the  conjunction  does  a  work  which  the  preposi- 
tion can  not  do.  Thus,  "//  you  find  the  work  hard, 
come  to  me,  and  tell  me  your  trouble."  Here  the  if 
introduces  a  conditional  idea.  On  condition  that  you 
find  the  work  hard,  come  and  tell  me.  The  if  also  ex- 
presses the  condition  as  uncertain  or  hypothetical,  im- 
plying that  in  case  you  do  not  find  the  work  hard,  you 
will  have  no  occasion  to  come.  The  and  joins  the  com- 
ing with  the  telling  as  two  closely  connected  acts.  Ob- 
serve how  abrupt  and  harsh  the  same  remark  would  be 
without  the  conjunctions, — "You  find  the  work  hard. 
Come  to  me.  Tell  me  your  trouble." 

As  thus  connecting  sentences  or  propositions,  a  prin- 
cipal division  of  conjunctions  is  into  coordinate  and 
subordinate,  the  coordinate  connecting  propositions  that 
stand  as  equal  and  independent;  the  subordinate  con- 
necting those  of  which  one  is  dependent  upon  another. 
The  chief  coordinate  conjunctions  are: 

Also,  and,  both,  but,  either,  neither,  nor,  or,  then. 

These  are  further  subdivided  into  Copulative  and 
Disjunctive  Conjunctions.  Some  add  as  a  third  class 
Adversative,  but  since  the  adversative  are  necessarily 
disjunctive,  this  further  division  does  not  seem  worth 
while. 


ENGLISH    CONNECTIVES  167 

The  typical  copulative  (i.e.,  linking,  uniting)  con- 
junction is  and,  which,  in  its  most  frequent  use,  simply 
adds  one  thing  to  another,  or  associates  it  with  another. 
Yet  and  is  capable  of  varying  use,  in  which  it  becomes 
more  than  a  mere  plus  sign.  For  example,  it  may  de- 
note one  statement  as  the  result  or  consequence  of  what 
has  gone  before;  in  which  case  and  approaches  the 
meaning  of  accordingly,  consequently,  or  therefore: 

You  bear  a  gentle  mind,  and  heavenly  blessings 
Follow  such  creatures. 

—SHAKESPEARE  :  "K.  Henry  VIII,"  Act  II,  Sc.  3. 

Enlist  the  interests  of  stern  morality  and  religious  en- 
thusiasm in  the  cause  of  political  liberty,  as  in  the  time  of 
the  old  Puritans,  and  it  will  be  irresistible. 

—COLERIDGE:  "Table  Talk,"  May  8,  1830. 

I  was  brought  up  in  a  New  England  village,  and  I  knew 

.     .     .     where  all  those  things  were  that  boys  enterprise  after. 

— BEECHER  in  Abbott's  "Henry  Ward  Beecher,"  p.  15. 

We  only  know  that  God  is  just.  And  every  wrong  shall  die. 
— WHITTIER:  "At  Port  Royal,"  St.  15. 

Hence  the  grotesque  effect  of  using  and  with  result- 
ant suggestion,  where  such  implication  is  not  intended, 
as  a  Japanese  experimenter  with  English  wrote  ear- 
nestly to  his  friend,  "Don't  fail  to  come  to  our  house, 
and  disappoint  us." 

Again,  and  may  have  almost  adversative  use,  nearly 
akin  to  but,  though  with  added  force,  on  the  principle 
that  nothing  brings  out  a  contrast  so  strikingly  as  the 
mere  placing  of  the  contrasted  objects  or  ideas  side  by 
side.  White  is  seen  with  fullest  distinctness  against 
black.  Thus : 

It  is  one  thing  to  entertain,  and  another  to  be  entertaining. 
— C.  D.  WARNER  :  "Little  Journeys  in  the  World," 

Cb.  13,  p.  227. 


168  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

I  have  brought  you  here  to  reason,  .  .  .  and  wrang- 
ling is  caddish. 

— E.  LYNN  LINTON  :  "Patricia  Kemball,"  Ch.  20,  p.  214. 

In  schools  and  colleges,  in  fleet  and  army,  discipline  means 
success,  and  anarchy  means  ruin. 

— FROUDE  :  "Short  Studies,"  Kerry  in  second  series,  p.  381. 

It  is  by  the  observance  of  these  finer  distinctions  that 
we  gain  the  full  advantage  of  the  flexibility  and  vigor 
of  our  language,  in  contrast  with  the  methodical  and 
wooden  correctness  of  those  who  learn  only  a  few  chief 
rules,  and  apply  them  undeviatingly  upon  every  pas- 
sage of  prose  or  poetry  that  they  fall  upon  or  hew  out. 

Here  may  be  noted  the  use  of  and  with  an  added  verb 
after  go,  come,  send,  try,  etc.,  which  some  have  cen- 
sured. It  has  been  assumed  that  and  in  such  use  is 
equivalent  to  to,  and  hence  should  be  condemned  as  su- 
perfluous and  incorrect.  We  have  the  familiar  Puristic 
argument  that  because  one  expression  can  be  used  in  a 
certain  case,  therefore  it  must  always  be  erroneous  to 
use  any  other  expression  in  a  like  case; — because  it  is 
possible  to  say,  "Come  to  see,"  therefore  it  must  be 
wrong  to  say,  ' '  Come  and  see. ' '  But  the  latter  usage  is 
sustained  by  the  highest  authority,  and  when  we  come 
to  balance  the  expressions,  is  sustained  also  by  the  logic 
of  linguistic  thought.  If  we  change  "Go  and  get  it," 
for  instance,  into  "Go  to  get  it, ' *  there  is  an  immediate 
loss  of  force.  Why?  Because  "Go  to  get  it"  refers 
only  to  a  purpose,  which  may  never  be  fulfilled,  while 
"Go  and  get  it"  contemplates  the  getting  as  the  sure 
result  of  the  going,  which  may  therefore  be  viewed  as 
an  accomplished  fact.  Hence  this  idiom  has  a  con- 
clusiveness  to  be  attained  by  no  other  form  of  expres- 
sion. 


ENGLISH   CONNECTIVES  169 

They  said  unto  him,  Eabbi,  .  .  .  where  dwellest  thou? 
He  saith  unto  them,  come  and  see. — John  i,  38. 

He  saith  unto  them,  How  many  loaves  have  ye  ?  go  and  see. 

—Mark  vi,  38. 

Go  and  shew  John  again  those  things  which  ye  do  hear 
and  see. — Matt,  xi,  4. 

* 

In  rapid,  emphatic  utterance,  the  and  of  such  expres- 
sions is  often  omitted ;  as,  go,  bring  me  my  hat. 

Come,  see  a  man  which  told  me  all  things  that  ever  I  did. 

— John  iv,  29. 

Let  me  not  stay  a  jot  for  dinner;  go,  get  it  ready. 

— SHAKESPEARE:  "King  Lear,"  Act  I,  Sc.  4,  1.  82. 

Come,  gentle  dreams,  the  hour  of  sleep  beguile! 

— LONGFELLOW:  "The  Child  Asleep,"  St.  5. 

But  is  the  typical  example  of  the  disjunctive  con- 
junction. It  regularly  connects  ideas  that  are  in  con- 
trast or  contradiction.  As  it  varies  all  the  way  from 
the  slightest  difference  to  the  most  decided  antagonism, 
care  must  be  taken  to  avoid  its  excessive  use.  Almost 
any  sentence  or  paragraph  that  brings  in  a  new  view 
or  an  added  thought  may,  if  one  so  pleases,  be  intro- 
duced by  but,  until  this  may  become  the  most  frequent 
of  all  connectives,  and  have  a  harsh  and  jarring  effect, 
so  that  one  is  fain  to  ask, ' '  Must  I  be  perpetually  on  the 
outlook  for  a  contrast?"  The  style  of  a  popular  mod- 
ern historian,  which  is  for  the  most  part  singularly 
felicitous  and  often  beautiful,  is  yet  marred  by  the  con- 
tinual recurrence  of  but  for  almost  any  variation  of 
thought.  This  may  be  obviated  by  using  skilfully  some 
one  of  the  subordinate  conjunctions,  although,  though, 
however,  nevertheless,  notwithstanding.  Often  the 
mildest  concessive  conjunction  has  a  better  effect  than 
the  sharply  adversative  but. 


170  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

But  is  often  used  to  introduce  a  substitute  or  an 
equivalent;  as,  "I  can  not  pay  you  now,  but  (instead) 
I  will  give  you  my  note  at  thirty  days;" — "He  could 
no  longer  reign,  but  (what  might  be  an  equal,  or  even 
a  greater,  achievement)  he  could  die  like  a  king." 
Hence  the  sudden  shock  when  but  in  such  connection 
introduces  a  great  disparity,  as  when  a  rural  real-estate 
agent  writes:  "The  house  has  no  bath-room,  but  it  is 
provided  with  a  large  cistern  and  a  fine  deep  well." 

But  after  a  negative  has  often  the  meaning  of  4 '  other- 
wise than;"  as,  "I  can  not  but  believe  that  he  will  come 
(i.e.,  I  can  not  believe  otherwise  than  that  he  will 
come).  With  this  is  often  confused  a  similar  expres- 
sion of  quite  different  meaning,  "I  can  but."  The  lat- 
ter usage  is  often  supposed  to  be  a  mere  abbreviation 
of  the  former,  leaving  out  the  not.  and  so  preferable  as 
briefer.  In  fact,  but  in  the  latter  form  ceases  to  be  a 
conjunction,  and  has  merely  the  effect  of  an  adverb, 
equivalent  to  only.  Thus  "I  can  not  but  hope  that  he 
will  come"  means  "I  can  not  help  hoping — I  can  not 
stop  myself  from  hoping,"  etc.,  while  "I  can  but  hope" 
means  "I  can  only  hope,"  implying  much  less  confi- 
dence, equivalent  to  "I  can  scarcely  force  myself  to 
hope,"  etc. 

We  cannot  but  believe  that  there  is  an  inward  and  essen- 
tial truth  in  art. 

— CARLYLE  :  "Essay  on  Goethe,"  Vol.  I,  p.  237. 

The  question  of  the  nominative  or  objective  form  of 
the  pronoun  after  but  depends  upon  the  consideration 
whether  but  is  used  in  a  given  case  as  a  preposition  or 
as  a  conjunction.  As  a  preposition,  but  would  be  fol- 
lowed by  the  objective,  and  we  should  say,  ' '  There  is  no 
other  but  HIM  (i.e.,  apart  from  or  besides  HIM).  But 


171 

the  prevailing  tendency  in  English  now  is  to  treat  but 
in  such  use  as  a  conjunction,  however  difficult  it  may 
be  to  fill  the  ellipsis,  and  to  say,  as  the  Authorized  Ver- 
sion of  the  Scriptures  says: 

There  is  one  God,  and  there  is  none  other  but  he. 

One  familiar  line  of  Mrs.  Hemans'  poem,  "Casabi- 
anca, ' '  has  been  quoted  on  both  sides : 

The  boy  stood  on  the  burning  deck, 
Whence  all  but  he  had  fled, 

Or, 

WhenceJ-all  but  him  had  fled. 

Which  is  correct?  The  line  is  printed  differently  ir> 
different  editions  of  the  poet's  works  that  seem  of  equal 
authority.  Some  one  has  edited  it.  But  which  way? 
Or  did  the  author  herself  change  it  in  some  new  edi- 
tion, and,  if  so,  which  way?  Our  own  impression  is 
that  the  pronoun  is  made  nominative  by  attraction,  from 
a  confused  feeling  that  it  is  the  subject  of  the  following 
verb,  "had  fled": — though  we  see  on  reflection  that  it 
is  not,  for  "he"  had  not  fled.  Yet  the  impression  is  so 
strong  that  "him  had  fled"  has  the  appearance  of  false 
syntax,  though  that  is  not  the  fact.  At  all  events,  the 
present  tendency,  and  one  long  established,  is  to  treat 
but  in  such  use  as  a  conjunction,  taking  the  same  case 
after  it  as  before  it : 

No  one  escaped  the  wreck  but  he; 
The  wreck  was  fatal  to  all  but  him. 

Or — ,  or. — Other  prominent  disjunctive  conjunctions 
are  or  and  nor.  Or  presents  a  simple  alternative,  but 
nor  presents  an  alternative  with  vigorous  negation. 
While  and  joins  absolutely,  or  in  joining  keeps  the  line 


172  EXPRESSIVE   ENGLISH 

of  separation  distinct.  Or  always  suggests  substitu- 
tion. The  ideas  connected  by  and  are  both  or  all  in- 
cluded in  the  enumeration;  those  connected  by  or  ex- 
clude each  other.  "I  will  take  this  and  that"  means 
that  I  will  take  both;  "I  will  take  this  or  that"  means 
that  if  I  take  one,  I  will  leave  the  other.  "Your  money 
or  your  life"  sharply  announces  that  you  cannot  keep 
both. 

"This  or  that,"  not  "this  and  that"  is  the  rule  to  which  all 
of  us  have  to  submit,  and  it  strangely  equalizes  the  destinies 
of  men. 
— HAMERTON  :  "The  Intellectual  Life,"  Pt.  iv,  Letter  v,  p.  165. 

Hence  the  great  difference  in  grammatical  construc- 
tion between  nominatives  connected  by  and  and  nomi- 
natives connected  by  or.  And  pluralizes  singular  nomi- 
natives, so  that  they  take  a  plural  verb ;  as,  "  Time  and 
tide  WAIT  for  no  man.  Or  separates  the  singular  nom- 
inatives, which  it  at  the  same  time  connects,  so  that, — 
however  many  they  may  be, — each  takes  separately  a 
singular  verb;  as,  "A  horse  or  a  mule  is  needed  for  this 
work." 

Nor  is  the  necessary  correlative  of  neither,  but  is  not 
limited  to  that  construction;  any  negative,  as  not,  no, 
never,  etc.,  may  be  followed  by  nor,  when  it  is  desired 
to  make  the  opposition  of  elements  vigorous  and  de- 
cisive. Thus  not  may  be  followed  by  either  or  or  nor, 
but  with  difference  of  meaning,  nor  being  more  strongly 
adversative;  as,  "Will  he  not  come  or  send  (one  or  the 
other)?"  but,  "Will  he  not  come  nor  send  (and  not 
even  send)  ?" 

NOT  spoke  in  word,  nor  blazed  in  scroll, 
But  borne  and  branded  on  my  soul. 

— SCOTT  :  "Lady  of  the  Lake,"  Can.  iv,  St.  6, 


ENGLISH    CONNECTIVES  173 

Let  NOT  our  variance  mar  the  social  hour, 
Nor  wrong  the  hospitality  of  Randolph. 

—JOHN  HOME  :  "Douglas,"  Act  IV,  Sc.  1. 

The  appellations  in  common  use  are  NOT  applied  with  tech- 
nical exactness,  nor  do  they  answer  the  ends  of  a  philosophical 
explanation. 

—PORTER  :  "Human  Intellect,"  Pt.  ii,  Ch.  6,  p.  351. 

Spirit  is  NOT  matter,  nor  matter  spirit. 

— C.  HODGE:  "Systematic  Theology," 

Vol.  I,  Pt.  i,  Ch.  5,  p.  379. 

No  Spring,  nor  Summer's  beauty,  hath  such  grace, 
As  I  have  seen  in  one  autumnal  face. 

— JOHN  DONNE  :  "The  Autumnal,"  1.  1. 

In  this  intense  eagerness  to  press  forward,  he  [Pestalozzi] 
NEVER  stopped  to  examine  results,  nor  to  coordinate  means 
with  ends. 

— Jos.  PAYNE:  "Science  of  Education,"  Lect.  iii,  p.  84. 

The  subordinate  conjunctions  are  very  numerous,  as: 

although,  as,  because,  except,  excepting  (that),  for,  however, 
if,  lest,  nevertheless,  notwithstanding,  provided,  save,  seeing, 
since,  so,  still,  than,  that,  then,  therefore,  though,  unless, 
whereas,  whereat,  wherefor,  wherefore,  wherever,  whether, 
while,  without. 

"With  these  are  joined  certain  conjunctive  adverbs, 
often  listed  as  conjunctions,  viz. : 

after,  before,  hence,  how,  now,  thence,  till,  until,  when, 
whence,  whenever,  where,  whereby,  wherein,  whereof,  whereon, 
whereupon,  whither,  why. 

The  limits  of  the  present  work  do  not  allow  of  the 
separate  consideration  of  these  many  items,  all  which 
will  be  found  of  interest,  as  well  as  of  importance.  As 
with  prepositions,  these  conjunctions  are  relatively  of 
more  consequence  in  English,  than  in  a  more  highly  in- 


174  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

fleeted  language,  because  they  must  completely  fill  the 
place  of  verb-changes  which  the  English  has  discarded. 
For  instance,  the  subjunctive  mode  has  almost  disap- 
peared from  our  language  and  some  conjunction  must 
appear  at  the  beginning  of  the  clause  to  indicate  the  re- 
lation that  might  otherwise  be  shown  by  the  form  of  the 
verb.  In  the  older  style,  as  of  our  Authorized  Version 
of  the  Scriptures,  we  read: 

But,  lie  it  so,  I  did  not  burden  you. — II  Cor.  xii,  16. 

This  style  would  now  be  unusual,  and  would  seem 
somewhat  formal  and  pedantic.  We  should  perhaps 
write,  "If  it  was  so,"  or  "Granting  that  it  was  so." 
The  connections  of  all  dependent  clauses  must  now  be 
expressed  largely  by  subordinate  conjunctions,  and  the 
relations  that  these  express,  while  always  important, 
are  often  also  of  exceeding  delicacy,  refinement,  and 
beauty.  One  who  limits  himself  to  a  small  number  of 
the  chief  connectives  misses  these  fine  shades  of  mean- 
ing, and  may  himself  be  perplexed  to  understand  why 
what  is  substantially  correct  in  his  own  style  is  yet 
harsh,  heavy,  or  discordant,  as  compared  with  the  style 
of  one  who  knows  better  how  to  weave  his  thoughts  to- 
gether by  apt  and  fitting  choice  of  the  very  connective 
that  would  express  at  every  turn  the  nice  shade  of  mean- 
ing these  require. 

As  suggested  for  prepositions,  the  student  will  do 
well  to  take  up  one  conjunction  at  a  time  (or  two  or 
three  that  are  closely  related),  study  that  sufficiently 
to  fix  its  use  in  mind,  and  be  on  the  outlook  for  its  re- 
currence. His  own  awakened  attention  and  observation 
will  do  more  for  him  than  any  precepts  that  can  be 
given.  As  in  the  study  of  synonyms,  it  will  be  well  at 
times  to  make  enforced  changes  in  some  passage  that 


ENGLISH    CONNECTIVES  175 

one  admires,  and  see  what  the  substitution  of  a  different 
connective  would  do  for  it.  Ordinarily  one  will  find 
that  this  will  involve  a  loss,  either  of  power  or  beauty. 
Then  it  is  incumbent  upon  him  to  discover  why.  The 
fault  in  our  ordinary  reading  is  that  we  slide  over  these 
links  of  style  as  we  run  a  watch-chain  through  our 
fingers,  without  a  thought  of  the  delicate  fitting  of  link 
after  link.  To  become  ' '  a  cunning  workman, ' '  one  must 
be  able  to  observe  just  that, — to  note  thoughtfully  the 
skilful  work  of  the  masters  of  style,  until  able  to  emulate 
their  excellence. 

KELATIVES 

The  relative  has  more  effect  than  any  other  part  of 
speech  in  closely  interlocking  propositions  or  clauses. 
The  conjunction  stands  somewhat  apart  from  each  of 
the  connected  clauses.  But  the  relative  is  a  part  of  the 
subordinate  clause,  linked  with  it  in  grammatical  struc- 
ture, while  it  also  limits  something  in  the  principal 
clause,  depends  for  its  own  meaning  upon  the  principal 
clause,  and  often  gives  to  the  principal  clause  all  the 
meaning  that  it  possesses.  Thus: 

"Those  may  enter  who  are  ready." 

Without  the  relative,  those  means  nothing;  "those  may 
enter" — we  must  still  ask,  who?  On  the  other  hand, 
without  the  principal  clause,  the  who  is  almost  meaning- 
less. "Who  are  ready"  by  itself  tells  nothing,  but  when 
associated  with  the  principal  clause,  that  relative  clause 
"who  are  ready"  has  the  effect  of  an  adjective  limiting 
and  defining  those;  "those  who  are  ready  (the  ready 
ones)."  In  fact,  we  may  telescope  the  relative  clause 
within  the  principal  clause,  making  the  combination  still 


176  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

more  manifest  and  vivid: — "Those  who  are  ready  may 
enter. ' ' 

Hence  the  use  of  a  relative  to  introduce  a  clause 
which  is  but  slightly  connected  in  thought  with  the 
principal  clause,  but  which  comes  as  a  loosely  attached 
afterthought,  is  always  a  fault  of  style.  Such  construc- 
tion is  false  to  the  very  ideal  of  construction  by  the 
relative  pronoun.  This  blemish  of  style  is  technically 
designated  as  that  of  "the  trailing  clause."  Of  this  the 
following  clipping  from  a  newspaper  of  the  Far  West 
may  be  given  as  an  extreme  example : 

The  injured  man's  wounds  were  dressed  by  Dr.  F.  D. 
Brown,  who  was  on  his  way  to  the  hospital  to  see  the  Rev. 
W.  H.  Marks,  who  is  seriously  ill  with  typhoid  fever,  and  it 
is  thought  he  will  recover. 

This  critical  rule  is  not  an  impeachment  of  the  "loose 
sentence,"  which,  as  used  by  Addison,  Irving,  and  other 
masters  of  style,  is  capable  of  great  elegance  and  force, 
all  the  dependent  clauses  that  seem  so  lightly  attached 
joining  in  one  movement  of  thought  as  continuous  as 
that  of  a  picturesque  stream,  of  which  every  wave  and 
ripple  adds  its  power  and  its  touch  of  grace  to  the 
onward-flowing  current. 

The  relatives,  with  one  exception,  are  delightfully  sim- 
ple, because  they  have  no  gender,  person,  number,  nor 
case,  and  hence  can  scarcely  be  grammatically  misused. 
Who  alone  possesses  the  much-bewailed  "lost  inflec- 
tions,"— or  some  of  them — having  a  nominative,  a  pos- 
sessive, and  an  objective  case.  Hence,  when  you  encoun- 
ter whom  in  an  ordinary  publication,  you  may  be  quite 
sure  antecedently  that  it  is  misused.  The  rules  for  dis- 
criminating who  and  whom  are,  nevertheless,  so  simple 
that  they  can  be  mastered  by  a  small  part  of  the  pains 
often  taken  to  secure  the  wrong  construction. 


ENGLISH    CONNECTIVES  177 

INTRODUCTORY  PARTICLES 

The  introductory  particles,  it  and  there,  are  also  to 
be  viewed  as  connectives.  When  we  say,  "It  is  a  fine 
day,"  we  do  not  think  of  any  special  antecedent  of  the 
pronoun  "it,"  and  when  we  say,  "There  is  money 
enough  in  the  bank, "  we  do  not  think  of  the  particular 
location  of  that  "money."  The  "it"  and  "there"  are 
used  in  such  cases  like  the  algebraic  x  or  y  simply  to 
fill  the  place  of  some  quantity  not  exactly  specified,  but 
to  be  supplied  later.  In  such  expressions  as  "It  is 
pleasant  weather,"  "It  is  I,"  the  "it"  simply  holds  the 
thought  in  expectancy  for  the  coming  predicate.  In  such 
expressions  as  "It  is  time  to  go,"  the  "it"  serves  the 
same  purpose. 

In  the  phrase  "there  is,"  the  word  "there"  is  so 
independent  of  local  suggestion  that  a  local  adverb,  as 
"here"  or  another  "there,"  may  be  added  to  give  the 
local  meaning  which  the  introductory  "there"  fails  to 
express,  and  we  may  say,  "There  is  material  here,"  or 
"There  is  a  gate  there,"  the  final  adverb  keeping  the 
local  meaning  which  the  introductory  adverb  has  lost. 
The  introductory  "there"  is  more  slightly  pronounced 
than  "there"  denoting  location. 

There  is  a  lad  here,  which  hath  five  barley  loaves  and  two 
small  fishes. — John  vi,  9. 

Because  the  close  of  the  sentence  is  the  most  emphatic 
position  the  mind  spontaneously  endeavors  to  hold  back 
any  main  item  or  extended  phrase  for  that  place  of 
emphasis.  It  would  be  possible  to  say,  "A  lad  who  has 
five  barley  loaves  and  two  fishes  is  here,"  but  by  that 
time  the  "lad"  and  his  food-supply  would  have  drifted 
somewhat  out  of  prominence.  But  in  the  Scriptural  text 


178  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

the  introductory  there  shows  that  something  is  to  fol- 
low, and  points  onward  so  that  the  mind  waits  with 
expectant  interest  for  the  "lad"  and  his  store  to  com- 
plete the  statement.  In  the  proverb,  "There  is  no  jest- 
ing with  edge-tools,"  it  would  be  very  flat  to  say,  "No 
jesting  with  edge-tools  is."  In  the  following  sentence 
the  introductory  "It  is"  is  of  great  service  in  throwing 
the  important  items  on  to  the  place  of  emphasis  at  the 
close : 

"It  is  in  general  more  profitable  to  reckon  up  our  defects 
than  to  boast  of  our  attainments." 

— CARLYLE'S  Essay  on  "Signs  of  the  Times." 

When  attention  is  once  fastened  upon  the  English 
connectives  it  is  surprising  to  note  how  wide  is  the 
range,  and  how  various  the  relations  of  these  links  of 
style,  and  how  much  study  is  needed  for  their  most 
effective  use.  "Whoever  will  faithfully  master  the  mean- 
ings, associations,  and  suggestions  of  these  vital  connec- 
tives will  find  a  new  interest  in  the  delicate  joining  and 
grouping  of  elements  that  make  up  the  mosaic  of  style, 
and  will  also  gain  increased  power  to  utter  clearly, 
vividly,  and  worthily  the  very  thought  he  would  at  any 
time  express. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

ENGLISH  GRAMMAR— THE  FRAME  OF  STYLE 

Every  natural  language  was  in  use  long  before  the 
compiling  of  its  grammar.  The  earliest  grammar  known 
to  the  modern  world  is  the  Sanskrit  grammar  of  Panini 
(about  300  B.C.),  giving  in  eight  books  with  three  thou- 
sand sections,  the  rules  for  classical  Sanskrit.  But 
Panini  himself  enumerates  sixty-four  grammatical  prede- 
cessors, and  the  oldest  Sanskrit  literature  is  convention- 
ally placed  at  1500  B.C.,  though  undoubtedly  much 
older.  A  language,  however,  must  exist  in  a  tolerably 
complete  form  before  a  literature  can  be  composed  in  it, 
so  that  the  Sanskrit  language  reaches  beyond  the  earliest 
Sanskrit  literature  far  back  into  a  dim  antiquity.  The 
language  had  existed  for  unknown  centuries,  and  had 
been  the  medium  of  a  great  literature  for  probably  a 
thousand  years  before  its  grammar  began.  Greek  gram- 
mar had  an  independent  and  later  origin.  The  Homeric 
poems  were  the  monuments  it  most  eagerly  studied.  But 
those  poems  are  placed  at  900-1100  B.C.,  while  the  first 
notable,  though  disconnected,  observations  on  grammar 
were  made  by  Plato  (427-347  B.C.)  and  Aristotle  (384- 
322  B.C.).  It  was  not  until  Dionysius  Thrax  ("The 
Thracian"),  who  taught  in  Rome  in  the  first  century 
B.C.,  composed  his  "Art  of  Grammar,"  that  the  gram- 
mar of  the  Greek  language  had  full  development.  Thus 
again  about  a  thousand  years  elapsed  after  the  fulness 
and  power  of  the  Greek  language  had  been  revealed  in 
the  "Iliad"  and  "Odyssey,"  before  grammatical  analy- 

179 


180  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

sis  was  ready  to  explain  what  the  language  had  long 
since  done. 

The  grammatical  work  of  the  Romans  was  but  an  imi- 
tation of  their  Greek  models.  Varro  in  the  first  cen- 
tury B.C.  produced  a  work  of  great  value  on  the  Latin 
language,  and  Priscian,  about  the  close  of  the  fifth  cen- 
tury A.D.,  published  his  ' '  Grammatical  Commentaries, ' ' 
of  which  twelve  were  on  inflection  and  two  on  syntax. 
This  became  the  accepted  authority  on  Latin  grammar 
throughout  the  Middle  Ages.  But  all  that  was  greatest 
in  Latin  literature  had  been  written  long  before. 

The  record  of  English  grammar  is  similar,  traced 
back  to  the  "Bref  Grammar  for  English"  of  William 
Bullokar,  published  in  1586,  the  "English  Grammar"  by 
Ben  Jonson,  issued  in  1640,  and  the  ' '  Grammatica  Lin- 
guae Anglicanse"  of  John  Wallis,  published  in  1653.  The 
earliest  of  these  works  was  written  five  hundred  years 
after  the  Norman  Conquest,  and  two  centuries  after 
Chaucer  had  shown  what  the  English  language  by  itself 
could  do. 

Considered  a  priori  we  should  at  once  say  that  nothing 
could  be  more  rational,  convenient,  and  desirable  than  a 
directory  of  the  combinations  of  words,  showing  what 
words  must  mean  when  associated  in  certain  ways,  ac- 
cording to  the  custom,  or,  as  we  sometimes  say,  the 
"genius,"  of  the  language.  How  is  it,  then,  that  in 
English  the  word  "grammarian"  has  become  almost  a 
term  of  reproach,  and  that  "grammatical  rules"  have 
come  to  be  considered  an  oppression  and  an  abomina- 
tion ?  This  is  due  'to  the  fact,  just  recorded,  that  in  the 
early  days  a  foreign  grammar  was  imposed  upon  Eng- 
lish, ready-made  from  without,  and  with  practically  no 
reference  to  what  had  grown  up  within  the  language. 
The  fact  that  Chaucer  and  Gower  had  written  widely 
popular  tales  and  poems  no  more  made  English  schol- 


ENGLISH    GRAMMAR  181 

arly,  in  the  view  of  the  grammarians,  than  the  popu- 
larity of  moving  pictures  to-day  would  in  an  artist's 
view  give  them  a  place  in  classical  art.  Those  famous 
poets  and  later  English  writers  in  verse  and  prose  had 
done  very  well,  the  scholar  would  admit,  considering 
the  poor  material  in  which  they  had  to  work.  But 
English  was  still  in  his  view  an  inferior  language,  "the 
vulgar  tongue,"  toward  which  the  scholar  must  exercise 
such  patience  as  he  could.  Even  Lindley  Murray  in  his 
English  Grammar  of  1795,  contrasts  English  with  "the 
learned  languages,"  which  for  him  were  notably  the 
Greek  and  Latin. 

The  Latin,  especially,  was  the  beloved  language  of 
English  scholars.  The  work  which  an  Englishman  might 
write  in  Latin  could  be  read  by  any  scholar  in  France, 
Germany,  or  Italy,  Sweden,  Denmark  or  Spain.  In  that 
language  he  was  at  home  in  the  ' '  Republic  of  Letters. ' ' 
Bacon  in  1620  wrote  his  "Novum  Organum"  in  Latin, 
as  did  Harvey  in  1628  his  work  on  the  "Circulation  of 
the  Blood."  When  the  scholars  turned  to  English  they 
missed  almost  everything  that  made  Latin  grammar  a 
certainty  and  a  delight.  As  English  was  evidently  deter- 
mined to  live,  they  agonized  to  shape  it  to  the  Latin 
model.  It  must  have  genders,  persons,  numbers,  cases, 
and  conjugations,  wherever  the  Latin  had  them,  or  the 
want  of  these  must  be  explained  or  apologized  for,  and 
words  or  whole  clauses  must  be  "understood,"  to  show 
what  the  expression  would  have  been  in  the  nobler  and 
more  orderly  Latin.  It  was  taken  for  granted  that  the 
English  had  failed  of  this  only  because  it  was  unable, 
as  yet,  to  obtain  it.  Everything  possible  must  be  done 
to  hasten  the  reshaping  of  the  native  speech  to  the  Latin 
perfection. 

In  England  the  very  name  of  "grammar  school"  sig- 


182  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

nified  a  school  where  the  chief  studies  were  Greek  and 
Latin,  predominantly  Latin,  as  more  strictly  the  lan- 
guage of  western  Europe.  So  far  as  English  was  thought 
worthy  of  any  attention  whatever,  it  was  with  the  unde- 
viating  purpose  of  remaking  it  to  fit  the  Latin  scheme. 
Hence,  there  was  constant  strain  and  friction  between 
the  living,  vigorous,  hustling  language  and  the  antique 
and  immobile  frame  into  which  it  was  determined  to 
thrust  it.  We  can  hear  the  language  struggle  and  groan 
and  the  joints  of  the  frame-work  creak  wherever  the 
attempt  is  persisted  in,  to  this  day.  Thousands  of  stu- 
dents gave  up  the  study  except  as  compelled  to  go 
through  perfunctory  recitations,  and  those  who  at- 
tempted to  write  or  talk  according  to  the  book  were 
given  up  by  the  rest.  At  length,  in  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury, and  especially  in  America,  teachers  awoke  to  the 
fact  that  the  results  of  this  system  bore  no  proportion 
to  the  time  and  labor  bestowed  on  the  instruction.  Then 
there  was  a  general  revolt  against  grammar  as  such. 
Many  schools  abolished  the  very  name,  and  substituted 
"language"  lessons,  not  seeing  that  they  were  trying  to 
do  without  a  system  the  very  thing  that  the  discarded 
English  grammar  had  tried  to  do  by  a  false  system. 
Then  we  had  "inductive  methods,"  in  which  the  poor 
callow  things  of  eight  to  fourteen  years  of  age  were  to 
study  out  and  discover  in  a  few  hours  of  their  school 
course  the  evolution  of  centuries.  Out  of  all  these  com- 
plicated failures  there  has  grown  up  in  many  minds  the 
persuasion  that  what  is  called  "English  grammar"  is 
an  outgrown  superstition,  a  fiction,  or  a  joke.  Some 
instructors  in  English  have  affirmed  that  "Grammar  is 
simply  good  common  sense,"  or  that  "Good  grammar 
is  simply  speaking  so  as  to  be  understood. ' ' 

Such  a  solution  utterly  breaks  down  under  the  test 


ENGLISH   GRAMMAR  183 

of  fact.  A  recent  paper  gives  the  repartee  of  a  colored 
shopper  with  a  dealer  of  her  own  race.  "Is  dese  aigs 
fresh?"  she  asks.  "I  ain't  savin'  dey  ain't,"  is  the 
reply.  To  which  she  answers,  "I  ain't  askin'  you,  Is 
dey  ain't;  but,  is  dey  is.  Is  dey?"  Here  certainly  was 
good  sense.  The  analysis  of  the  subject  would  do  credit 
to  an  accomplished  debater: — "I  am  not  asking  what 
they  are  not,  but  what  they  are.  Are  they  as  specified?" 
As  to  "being  understood"  this  dialectic  statement  is 
perfectly  intelligible.  Yet  its  violations  of  grammar  are 
too  many  to  enumerate.  The  prevalence  of  such  a  style 
would  hopelessly  corrupt  and  degrade  the  language. 

Now,  what  is  that  thing  called  "grammar,"  which  is 
thus  violated?  It  is  the  immemorial  usage  of  the  lan- 
guage regarding  the  connection  of  words,  as  established 
by  consensus  of  its  best  writers  and  speakers  through  all 
the  past.  Changes  have  come  from  period  to  period, 
but  yet,  on  the  whole,  an  essential  unity  has  character- 
ized the  English  language  for  five  hundred  years.  Its 
best  writers  and  speakers  have  been  persons  of  clear  and 
vigorous  thought,  and,  in  the  main,  of  good  taste  and 
fine  feeling.  They  have  been  most  competent  to  decide 
what  constructions  should  live,  and  their  approval  and 
use  have  fixed  those  constructions  in  the  language. 
Where  they  have  agreed  that  a  plural  form  of  the  verb, 
for  instance,  should  be  used,  we  should  do  ill  to  set  aside 
that  agreement  and  employ  a  singular  form.  Those 
masters  of  style  have  given  elegance  and  dignity  to  cer- 
tain constructions,  so  that  on  the  edge  of  the  ungram- 
matical  there  is  always  a  zone  of  the  inelegant  and 
undignified,  which,  if  not  explicitly  to  be  condemned,  is 
yet  to  be  avoided.  All  these  conditions  are  violated  by 
the  dialectical  quotation  given  above,  in  spite-  of  the  fact 
that  it  expresses  good  sense,  and  can  be  readily  under- 


184  EXPRESSIVE   ENGLISH 

stood.  Good  sense  and  intelligibility  do  not  by  them- 
selves constitute  good  grammar. 

There  are  others  who  say,  "People  who  have  been 
brought  up  in  good  society  speak  properly  without  ever 
thinking  of  grammar."  Without  discussing  to  what  ex- 
tent this  statement  may  be  true,  the  fact  is  at  once 
evident  that  it  provides  for  an  exceedingly  small  part 
of  the  English-speaking  world.  In  fact,  it  seems  rather 
snobbish,  saying  in  effect,  "If  you  are  one  of  us  who 
have  had  certain  advantages,  you  will  need  no  grammar. 
If  not,  there  is  probably  no  help  for  you."  But  even 
admitting  that  there  is  a  formative  power  in  the  usage 
of  cultured  society  to  impress  proper  habits  of  speech 
without  direct  instruction,  the  question  arises:  cannot 
its  governing  principles  and  accomplished  facts  be  sys- 
tematized and  reduced  to  orderly  statement  that  can  be 
learned  by  people  who  have  not  had  access  to  the 
charmed  circle?  Is  there  not  some  grammatical  salva- 
tion for  the  mass  of  men?  A  book  or  a  system  that 
would  put  the  English  usage  of  cultured  society  in  a 
shape  to  be  learned  by  the  general  public  would  be  an 
English  grammar  of  a  high  order  and  of  practical 
value.  To  meet  such  demands,  the  traditional  system  of 
English  grammar  needs  to  be  stripped  of  very  much 
that  in  the  course  of  centuries  has  accumulated  around 
the  essential  grammar  of  the  language.  It  is  helpful 
to  consider  what  grammar  is  not. 

1.  Grammar  is  not  rhetoric.  Some  grammars  are  still 
encumbered  with  "figures  of  speech,"  with  which  gram- 
mar has  nothing  to  do.  If  the  Scripture  says,  "God  is 
a  rock,"  rhetoric  informs  us  that  this  is  a  metaphor, 
which  is  a  very  useful  classification.  But  grammar 
knows  nothing  of  such  a  distinction.  Grammatically 
that  sentence  is  exactly  like  the  literal  sentence,  "God 


ENGLISH    GRAMMAR  185 

is  a  spirit."  Each  has  a  subject,  a  verb,  and  a  predicate 
nominative.  If  those  are  correctly  used  and  placed,  the 
work  of  grammar  is  done,  as  much  for  the  one  sentence 
as  for  the  other.  If  one  says  of  some  disreputable  char- 
acter, ' '  He  is  a  fine  fellow, ' '  that  is  a  use  of  a  rhetorical 
figure  called  irony.  But  grammatically  it  is  a  simple 
sentence,  with  subject  and  predicate  correctly  joined. 
There  its  grammatical  treatment  ends.  Rhetoric  may  do 
with  it  what  it  will.  Why  try  to  jam  grammar  and 
rhetoric  together  in  one  lesson,  any  more  than  grammar 
and  geometry? 

2.  Grammar  is  not  metaphysics  or  philosophy.  Many 
English  grammars  contain  explanations  or  classifications 
that  are  wholly  metaphysical.  Such  discriminations  may 
be  very  keen  and  elegant,  considered  as  metaphysics,  but 
in  no  way  help  to  mastery  of  the  actual  facts  of  gram- 
mar, which  would  be  the  same  without  them.  We  need 
not  decide  whether  a  piece  of  metaphysics  is  good  or 
bad,  acute  or  absurd.  It  is  enough  that  it  is  not  gram- 
mar, and  should  be  ruled  out  of  a  grammatical  treatise. 

Numerous  grammars,  for  instance,  laboriously  carry 
the  distinction  between  abstract  and  concrete  or  material 
nouns.  Metaphysics  may  have  some  use  for  the  distinc- 
tion, but  the  English  language  knows  nothing  of  it.  It 
treats  the  so-called  abstract  nouns  like  mercy,  hope,  fear, 
joy,  precisely  as  it  treats  air,  water,  rock,  and  free, 
which  are  called  concrete  or  material  nouns.  But  we  are 
told  "abstract  nouns  have  no  plural."  Yet  we  speak 
just  as  freely  of  mercies,  hopes,  fears,  joys,  as  of  airs, 
waters,  rocks,  trees.  "Oh,  but,"  we  are  told,  "when 
an  abstract  noun  is  used  in  the  plural,  it  ceases  to  be  an 
abstract  noun,  and  becomes  concrete. ' '  Here  the  average 
intellect  gives  up.  As  to  abstract  nouns  becoming  con- 
crete, when  used  in  the  plural,  it  still  seems  to  us  that 


186  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

liberties  are  more  abstract  than  potatoes.  This  is  a  good 
example  of  the  result  of  inflicting  metaphysics  upon 
grammar.  Why  should  a  grammatical  student  spend 
one  moment  on  such  distinction,  when  he  can  place  and 
connect  his  words  without  it,  and  without  ever  having 
heard  of  it? 

3.  Grammar  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  truth  of  prop- 
ositions nor  with  the  good  sense  or  nonsense  of  what  is 
uttered.  The  "Mother  Goose"  rimes  are  for  the  most 
part  perfectly  grammatical.  Take  this  description  of 
an  ancient  Pacifist: 

"There  once  was  a  man  who  said,  How 
Shall  I  flee  from  this  horrible  cow? 
I  will  sit  on  the  stile  and  continue  to  smile, 
Which  may  soften  the  heart  of  this  cow." 

What  possible  grammatical  fault  is  there  in  that  stanza  ? 
Or,  again,  it  is  perfectly  grammatical  to  say  or  write, 
"The  moon  is  made  of  green  cheese."  Subject,  verb,  and 
predicate  are  all  properly  connected,  which  is  all  that 
grammar  requires.  It  is  perfectly  grammatical  to  say, 
"Light  is  the  same  as  darkness,"  or,  "The  sum  of  the 
three  angles  of  any  triangle  is  equal  to  three  right- 
angles."  However  false  these  statements  may  be,  the 
words  are  properly  connected,  which  is  all  that  grammar 
requires.  Yet  one  will  still  hear  teachers  saying,  "Oh, 
that  would  not  be  grammatical,  because  it  would  not  be 
good  sense,"  or,  " — because  it  would  not  be  true."  On 
the  contrary,  there  is  no  way  so  good  to  detect  falsehood, 
sophistry,  or  absurdity,  as  to  have  it  stated  with  strict 
grammatical  accuracy.  If  there  is  grammatical  error, 
you  may  think  the  fault  is  there.  But  if  the  grammar 
is  perfect,  the  fault  must  be  in  the  thought  expressed. 
The  old  arguments  for  the  Divine  Right  of  Kings  were 


ENGLISH    GRAMMAR  187 

often  most  perfect  in  form  of  statement.  For  that  very 
reason  they  could  be  refuted,  because  there  was  some- 
thing clear  and  definite  to  answer.  Let  grammar  do  its 
own  work,  and  be  charged  with  nothing  more. 

"But,  after  all,"  says  the  objector,  "is  it  not  inter- 
esting to  treat  these  other  things?  Are  we  not  giving 
the  pupils  that  much  more,  and  making  grammar  a 
richer  study  for  them?"  Well,  here  is  a  business  man 
who  wishes  to  have  the  accounts  of  office-expenses  always 
accessible,  so  that  he  may  turn  at  any  moment  to  any 
item.  His  stenographer  sees  that  there  is  room  to  spare 
in  the  file-case,  and  puts  in  transportation  charges,  in- 
terest on  loans,  bills  receivable  and  bills  payable,  etc., 
and  says,  ' '  See  how  much  richer  the  content  of  that  file- 
case  is  now!  What  a  number  and  variety  of  matters 
it  includes ! "  Or  shall  the  professor  lose  the  opportunity 
to  include  some  General  History  in  his  Chemistry,  or 
some  excellent  Theology  in  his  Analytical  Geometry? 
The  departments  of  business  are  not  more  closely  segre- 
gated than  the  departments  of  study  now  are,  and  in 
that  segregation  there  is  power.  Most  of  the  intricacy, 
complication,  and  perplexity  of  the  majority  of  English 
grammars  would  be  removed  at  a  stroke  by  cutting  out 
of  English  grammar  all  that  does  not  relate  directly  to 
English  grammar.  That  eminent  scholar  of  the  nine- 
teenth century,  George  P.  Marsh,  declared : 

"A  truly  philosophical  system  of  English  syntax  cannot  be 
built  up  by  means  of  the  Latin  scaffolding,  which  has  served 
for  the  construction  of  all  the  Continental  theories  of  gram- 
mar, but  must  be  constructed  and  executed  on  a  wholly  new 
and  original  plan."  * 

Our  first  constructive  principle  must  be  that  English 
grammar  is  the  grammar  of  the  English  language,- 


"Origin  and  History  of  the  English  Language,"  Lect.  1,  p.  22. 


188  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

language  which  has  started  new  in  the  world,  built  upon 
a  model  of  its  own,  and  which  is  not  shaped,  and  is  not 
to  be  shaped,  to  the  pattern  of  any  other; — which  has 
vindicated  its  right  to  an  independent  existence  by  a 
noble  and  honored  literary  history  of  five  hundred  years, 
and  has  demonstrated  its  utility  as  a  medium  of  com- 
munication by  becoming  the  vernacular  of  one  hundred 
and  fifty  millions  of  men,  almost  one-tenth  of  the 
world's  population.  The  language  must  make  and  con- 
trol the  grammar.  All  questions  of  English  grammar 
are  thus  questions  of  established  fact.  We  have  only  to 
inquire,  "What  do  English-speaking  people  mean  to 
express  by  words  in  a  certain  combination  ? ' '  and ' '  What 
do  English-speaking  people  understand  to  be  expressed 
by  that  combination,  when  they  read  or  hear  it  ? "  That 
is  for  the  English  language  final,  ultimate  fact,  and  a 
systematized  statement  of  all  facts  that  can  thus  be  col- 
lected is  the  whole  of  English  grammar. 

English  grammar,  then,  is  simply  a  systematized  and 
comprehensive  statement  of  the  facts  of  approved  Eng- 
lish usage.  Oftentimes  a  disputed  question  of  grammar 
can  be  no  better  settled  than  by  turning  to  the  Oxford 
(Murray's)  Dictionary,  following  down  the  citations 
from  approved  English  authors  of  all  centuries  since  the 
Anglo-Saxon  day,  and  accepting  their  consensus  of  usage 
as  the  law  or  "rule"  of  the  language.  Some  other  book 
of  citations  may  accomplish  the  same  purpose.  If  the 
study  is  adequate,  the  student  has  found  the  "rule"  of 
English  grammar  on  the  point  in  question.  A  number 
of  such  established  facts  may  establish  a .  controlling 
principle  of  English  usage.  Since  "rules"  have  been 
so  often  imposed  arbitrarily  and  unreasonably  in  the 
past,  it  seems  better  to  speak  of  the  facts  and  principles 
of  English  grammar,  rather  than  of  its  rules.  Study 


ENGLISH   GRAMMAR  189 

of  many  instances  will  enable  one  to  find  a  certain  anal- 
ogy of  English  usage,  which  is  often  helpful,  but  must 
be  followed  with  caution,  since  the  language,  like  every 
vigorous  speech,  reserves  the  right  at  times  to  break 
away  in  an  idiom,  which  becomes  good  usage  simply  be- 
cause it  gets  into  such  general  use. 

English  accepts  the  eight  parts  of  speech  common  to 
the  Indo-European  languages: — noun,  pronoun,  adjec- 
tive, verb,  adverb,  preposition,  conjunction,  and  inter- 
jection. The  wide  prevalence  of  this  classification  would 
indicate  it  to  be  at  once  natural  and  rational.  The 
noun  stands  as  the  name  of  any  object,  whether  material 
or  immaterial,  existing  in  the  outer  world  or  only  in  the 
world  of  thought ;  the  pronoun  has  place  on  fitting  occa- 
sion as  a  substitute  for  a  noun,  whether  as  rep- 
resenting some  particular  noun,  or  as  taking  a  place 
which  a  noun  might  hold;  the  adjective  describes 
or  in  some  way  limits  the  meaning  of  a  noun  or 
pronoun;  the  verb  is  the  action-word,  even  when 
it  specifies  state  or  condition  carrying  a  suggestion 
of  mental  movement,  so  that  "matter  exists"  has  a  dif- 
ferent force  from  "the  existence  of  matter";  the  adverb 
is  to  the  verb  what  the  adjective  is  to  the  noun,  or  it  may 
carry  its  descriptive  or  limiting  power  to  shade  the  mean- 
ing of  an  adjective  or  even  of  another  adverb ;  the  prepo- 
sition connects  words  so  as  to  show  a  dependence  of  one 
upon  the  other  in  meaning;  the  conjunction  connects 
words  by  mere  juxtaposition,  or  connects  sentences  so  as. 
to  bring  out  the  most  varied,  and  often  the  most  delicate, 
shades  of  dependence  or  other  relation;  the  interjection 
is  mere  formless  and  disconnected  utterance  of  emotion. 

While  English  thus  has  the  same  parts  of  speech  with 
the  other  languages  of  its  group,  it  has  one  way  of  using 
them  which  is  quite  distinctive.  The  same  word  may 


190  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

cross  from  one  part  of  speech  to  another  with  the  utmost 
freedom.  The  noun  may  be  used  as  an  adjective;  as,  a 
gold  watch,  silver  hair,  a  steel  bar,  an  iron  ring.  Or 
the  noun  may  be  used  as  a  verb;  as,  to  man  a  ship,  to 
arm  a  man,  to  bridge  a  river,  to  sample  sugar,  to  railroad 
a  bill,  to  nail  the  flag  to  the  mast.  Sometimes  an  added 
preposition  helps  to  this  verbal  force  of  the  noun ;  as,  to 
board  up  a  fence,  to  fence  off  a  lot,  to  brick  up  a  wall. 
Such  use  is  so  readily  intelligible  that  children  readily 
make  new  transfers  of  their  own,  like  the  little  boy  who 
called  out,  "Father,  the  cow  tailed  my  hat  off."  The 
adjective  may  be  used  as  a  noun ;  as,  to  return  good  for 
evil, ' '  The  rich  and  the  poor  meet  together. ' '  The  prep- 
osition may  be  used  as  a  noun ;  as,  the  outs  always  oppose 
the  ins;  or  as  a  verb,  as  "Down,  soothless  insulter! 
to  down  the  enemy;  up  with  it!  out  with  him!"  This 
freedom  and  flexibility  of  English  result  from  the  fact 
that  no  part  of  speech  has  any  fixed  forms  in  which  it 
must  appear.  Noun,  adjective,  verb,  etc.,  may  terminate 
with  any  letter  or  any  combination  of  letters,  so  that 
any  word  may  be  transferred  at  pleasure  from  one  part 
of  speech  to  another,  and  be  instantly  at  home  in  its 
new  connection.  In  Latin  this  could  in  no  wise  be  done. 
If  we  were  to  connect  the  Latin  words  pons,  "bridge," 
with  flumen,  "river,"  and  say  pons  flumen,  that  would 
not  only  not  mean  "to  bridge  a  river,"  but  it  would  not 
mean  anything.  This  is  but  one  instance  of  the  incon- 
gruities that  make  English  construction  upon  the  Latin 
model  impossible  and  hopeless.  English  can  do  what 
the  Latin  cannot  do,  and  we  may  be  very  glad  of  it. 

NOUNS 

Nouns  are  credited  with  the  properties  of  gender,  per- 
son, number,  and  case. 


ENGLISH    GRAMMAR  191 

Gender. — This  attribute  has  been  quite  fully  discussed 
in  the  opening  chapter  on  ' '  The  Simplicity  of  English, ' ' 
where  it  is  shown  that  the  uniform  tendency  of  the 
English  language  is  to  minimize  gender  in  nouns,  not 
more  than  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  nouns  being  dis- 
tinguishable as  masculine  or  feminine  and  not  one  noun 
being  recognizable  as  masculine,  feminine  or  neuter  by 
its  form.  Of  the  once  numerous  feminine  nouns  formed 
after  the  French  analogy  in  ess,  most  have  disappeared 
and  others  are  constantly  falling  into  disuse.  It  is  not 
now  good  form  to  say  or  write  "authoress,"  "poetess,'* 
* '  songstress, ' '  etc.  We  refer  to  the  woman  as  to  the  man 
as  "author,"  "poet,"  "singer,"  etc.  The  genius  of 
the  language  tends  strongly  to  the  disuse  of  any  dis- 
tinctively masculine  or  feminine  terminations.  We  have 
already  remarked  the  vast  number  of  nouns  like  com- 
panion, friend,  neighbor,  parent,  child,  bird,  fish,  etc., 
denoting  living  beings,  but  with  no  indication  of  sex  or 
gender.  The  entire  tendency  of  the  English  language  is 
to  minimize  gender  in  nouns,  as  in  other  parts  of  speech. 

Person. — Person  in  English  nouns  is  practically  neg- 
ligible. A  noun  cannot  be  in  the  first  person  without  a 
pronoun  of  the  first  person  accompanying  it;  as,  "I, 
Paul,  say  unto  you";  "We,  the  people,  do  ordain  and 
establish  this  constitution. ' '  All  nouns  are  of  the  third 
person,  unless  an  accompanying  pronoun  or  other  spe- 
cial indication  marks  them  as  of  first  or  second. 

Number. — Number  in  nouns,  as  singular  or  plural,  is 
indicated  with  special  care.  On  the  threshold  we  meet 
a  conflict  of  definitions,  some  authorities  defining  the 
plural  as  "denoting  more  than  one";  others  as  "denot- 
ing two  or  more."  Between  these  definitions  come  cer- 
tain fractional  quantities.  Shall  we  say,  "One  and  a 
half  ton  was  delivered,"  or  "One  and  a  half  tons  were 


192  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

delivered"?  The  prevailing  usage  is  certainly  in  favor 
of  the  latter  form,  and  the  best  modern  dictionaries  de- 
fine the  plural  as  ' '  denoting  more  than  one. ' ' 

The  common  or  regular  form  of  the  plural  is  obtained 
by  adding  s  to  the  singular,  or — after  a  sibilant  sound, 
as  where  a  word  ends  in  ch,  s,  sh,  x,  or  z, — adding  es,  for 
the  sake  of  euphony,  as  in  churches,  bushes,  gases,  foxes, 
etc.  The  es  in  such  cases  forms  a  separate  syllable. 
That  the  e  inserted  in  these  forms  is  euphonic  is  shown 
by  the  fact  that  an  e  is  pronounced  in  the  possessives 
of  the  same  words,  where  none  is  written.  Thus,  fox's 
(possessive)  is  pronounced  precisely  like  foxes  (plural). 
Some  care  and  pains  must  be  taken  to  master  the  very 
small  list  of  irregular  plurals  and  the  somewhat  larger 
number  of  foreign  plurals,  which  are,  nevertheless,  not 
numerous.  Some  are  perplexed  over  nouns  in  y  till  they 
learn  the  very  simple  rule  that  if  the  y  is  preceded  by  a 
vowel,  the  plural  merely  adds  s,  but  if  no  vowel  precedes 
the  y  is  changed  to  ie  before  adding  s;  as,  valley,  valleys; 
lady,  ladies.  Nouns  in  o  will  probably  always  be  some- 
what of  a  vexation,  since  they  form  their  plurals  in  s  or 
es  by  no  certain  rule;  as,  canto,  cantos;  echo,  echoes. 
But  these  are  not  so  numerous  as  greatly  to  worry  a  per- 
son who  is  willing  to  take  a  little  pains. 

Case. — Case  in  English  nouns  is  very  slightly  indi- 
cated. There  are  but  two  case-forms,  and  but  one  change 
of  form  for  case  in  either  the  singular  or  the  plural. 
How  is  it,  then,  some  will  ask,  that  nouns  are  said  to 
have  three  cases, — nominative,  possessive,  and  objective  ? 
Because  we  call  the  ordinary,  unchanged  form  of  the 
noun  either  nominative  or  objective  at  pleasure.  No  one 
can  say  of  the  word  man  standing  alone  that  it  is  nomi- 
native or  objective.  It  may  be  either  according  to  its 
relation  to  other  words,  and  this  is  indicated  almost 


ENGLISH    GRAMMAR  193 

entirely  by  its  position  in  a  sentence,  that  is  to  say,  by 
the  order  of  words.  Nominative  or  objective  case  indi- 
cates not  a  form  but  a  relation  of  the  word  so  designated. 
The  possessive  case  is  indicated  by  a  change  of  form, 
which  may  be  very  slight,  adding  s  preceded  or  followed 
by  an  apostrophe,  according  to  a  method  so  simple  that 
few  persons  are  ever  perplexed  by  it, — or  in  some  in- 
stances, as  of  plurals  in  s,  adding  an  apostrophe  only; 
as,  the  foxes'  den. 

PRONOUNS 

The  pronoun  is  looked  upon  as  the  stronghold  of  inflec- 
tion in  English.  Yet  it  is  surprising  how  little  is  there. 
"We  proudly  boast  of  one  declension — the  only  one  in  the 
English  language  which  contains  all  the  properties  of 
gender,  person,  number  and  case — the  personal  pronoun 
of  the  third  person,  expressed  in  the  nominative  singular 
by  Tie,  she,  or  it.  But  we  are  suddenly  awakened  to  the 
fact  that  this  one  lonely  declension  is  not  complete,  for 
gender  vanishes  in  its  plural,  and  for  lie,  she,  or  it  we 
have  the  one  genderless  plural  they,  their,  theirs,  them. 
In  fact,  at  this  point  we  have  used  up  our  entire  stock 
of  gender.  7  and  thou,  we  and  you  are  genderless.  So 
are  all  other  pronouns,  as  who,  which,  that,  etc.  A  few 
pronouns,  this  and  that,  one,  other,  etc.,  have  number, 
but  no  person,  gender,  nor  case.  One  pronoun,  who,  has 
a  full  set  of  cases  (who,  whose,  whom)  but  no  gender, 
person,  or  number.  The  pronoun  who,  in  all  its  forms, 
is  as  indifferent  to  singular  or  plural  as  the  noun  sheep. 
The  wonderful  thing  is  how  well  we  get  along  without 
the  many  variations  which  the  language  has  discarded, 
and  how  well  English  seems  to  be  equipped  in  the  matter 
of  pronouns,  with  so  few  forms  to  respond  to  actual 
count. 


194  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 


ADJECTIVES 

The  English  adjective  has  the  freedom  of  the  at- 
mosphere. No  variation  for  gender,  person,  number  or 
case.  Good,  bad,  fast,  slow,  light,  heavy,  precious, 
u'orthless, — any  such  English  adjective,  once  learned,  is 
yours  for  all  time.  Like  a  pass-key,  it  fits  equally  in 
every  lock.  If  you  wish  to  vary  the  degree  of  the  qual- 
ity, you  may  change  to  comparative  or  superlative. 
Otherwise  your  adjective,  once  learned,  is  yours  in  per- 
petuity. How  much  this  means  only  he  can  understand 
who  Eas  stood  with  a  disconnected  French,  German, 
Spanish,  or  Italian  adjective  suspended  in  mid  air,  find- 
ing himself  wholly  unable  to  fit  it  to  the  waiting  noun. 

But  because  it  is  free  from  the  bondage  of  inflection, 
the  English  adjective  comes  under  the  law  of  position, 
and  must  be  placed  so  near  its  noun  that  the  relation 
is  unmistakable.  The  practical  ease  and  certainty  with 
which  this  is  done  in  innumerable  instances  is  the  suf- 
ficient vindication  of  construction  by  position.  The 
matter  is  so  simple,  that  if  ever  an  adjective  is  made 
meaningless  or  incongruous  by  misplacement,  we  laugh 
at  the  false  construction  as  a  bit  of  ineptness  that  or- 
dinary care  might  have  avoided. 

VERBS 

English  verbs  may  be  said  to  constitute  one  great 
conjugation,  forming  its  past  inflected  forms  by  adding 
ed.  As  this  class  includes  almost  all  the  8,000  or  more 
English  verbs,  this  is  called  the  regular  formation. 
Outside  of  these  is  "a  little  wilful  group"  of  about  200 
verbs,  each  of  which  forms  its  past  tense  and  past  par- 
ticiple according  to  a  fashion  of  its  own;  as,  do,  did, 
done;  fly,  flew,  flown;  see,  saw,  seen.  These  have  been 


ENGLISH    GRAMMAR  195 

called  by  Grimm  and  certain  other  German  philologists 
"strong  verbs,"  for  reasons  satisfying  to  the  Teutonic 
mind — apparently  because  they  are  incorrigible — leav- 
ing the  immense  mass  of  English  verbs  as  ' '  weak  verbs. ' ' 
A  few  English  grammarians  have  accepted  this  title, 
though  with  many  protests,  an  increasing  majority 
terming  verbs  of  the  prevalent  and  usual  form  regular 
and  the  few  anomalous  survivors  irregular.  With  these 
200  irregular  verbs  there  is  absolutely  but  one  thing  to 
do — learn  them  "by  heart" — by  arbitrary  memory. 
There  is  no  royal  road  around  or  past  them.  Learning 
these  few  forms  is  not  a  great  job.  By  learning  ten 
irregular  verbs  a  day  all  may  be  mastered  in  three 
weeks,  and  the  work  is  done  for  all  time,  for  there  will 
never  be  any  more.  In  fact,  their  number  tends  stead- 
ily to  diminish.  We  may  now  say  builded  for  built, 
clothed  for  clad;  bereaved  is  more  common  than  bereft, 
and  dared  has  supplanted  durst. 

This  slight  array  of  old-time  forms  disposed  of,  the 
way  through  the  verb  opens  very  clearly.  Eight  little 
monosyllabic  auxiliaries,  each  practically  unchangeable 
in  its  own  domain,  point  the  way  to  all  the  relations  in- 
dicated by  the  hundreds  of  verb-forms  of  the  Latin, 
Greek,  and  many  other  languages.  Some  of  these  aux- 
iliaries, be,  can,  do,  have,  may,  must,  shall,  will,  associ- 
ate with  themselves  the  pure  infinitive,  that  is,  the  un- 
changed root-form  of  the  verb  without  the  sign  to;  as, 
"I  will  go",  "he  may  come",  etc.  Others  join  them- 
selves to  the  past  participle,  regular  or  irregular,  of  the 
verb,  forming  thus  a  verb-phrase  with  special  indica- 
tion of  time,  intention,  certainty,  possibility,  or  the  like ; 
as,  "I  have  done";  "the  book  is  finished".  These  are 
found  in  actual  fact  to  afford  combinations  sufficient 
to  cover  all  the  innumerable  variations  of  human 


196  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

thought  or  opinion  to  be  expressed  by  the  use  of  the 
verb. 

PARTICIPLES  AND  VERB-PHRASES 

The  participle  is  a  wonderful  contrivance  of  language 
for  carrying  over  the  idea  of  the  verb  into  close  and 
vivid  connection  with  other  words,  to  modify  a  noun, 
to  take  an  object,  or  to  be  itself  the  subject  or  the  ob- 
ject of  a  proposition.  The  participle  expresses  the  idea 
of  a  verb  otherwise  than  as  a  predicate;  it  might  be 
called  the  non-predicable  verb,  or  most  fittingly  "the 
participial  mode  of  the  verb,"  having  three  tenses, 
present,  past,  and  perfect. 

Any  participle  may  be  used  as  an  adjunct  of  subject 
or  predicate  without  forming  a  separate  clause  as  a 
finite  verb  would  do,  in  a  similar  connection  of  ideas. 
Thus:  "Hoping  you  are  well,  I  remain,  etc."  This  is 
much  less  formal  than  "I  hope  you  are  well,  and  I  re- 
main, etc. ' '  So, ' '  Having  seen  his  friends,  he  departed, ' ' 
is  used  in  place  of  ' '  He  saw  his  friends,  and  departed ; ' ' 
or  "Being  found  trustworthy,  he  was  promoted,"  in- 
stead of  "He  was  found  trustworthy,  and  was  pro- 
moted." The  thoughts  expressed  in  the  participial 
form  are  more  closely  woven  with  the  associated  mat- 
ter, and  have  greater  unity.  But  associated  with  one 
of  the  auxiliaries,  such  a  participle  makes  a  definite 
affirmation  and  forms  a  coherent  sentence;  and  this  is 
the  most  common  way  in  English  of  expressing  affirma- 
tion, opinion,  possibility.  The  easy  interweaving  of  the 
auxiliaries  with  the  infinitive  or  participle  in  verb- 
phrases  forms  a  mosaic  of  wonderful  power,  fluency, 
fulness  and  beauty,  adapted  beyond  all  that  would  be 
antecedently  thought  possible  to  the  expression  of  the 
subtle  variations  of  thought. 


ENGLISH   GRAMMAR  197 

ADVERBS 

There  has  appeared  from  somewhere  in  recent  years 
the  edict  that  no  adverb  or  other  word  shall  appear 
within  the  limits  of  a  verb-phrase,  i.e.,  between  the  aux- 
iliary and  the  participle  representing  the  principal  verb. 
Many  of  our  younger  writers  are  laboriously  endeavor- 
ing to  observe  this,  directly  against  the  genius  and  usage 
of  the  language;  so  that  we  have  such  nerve-racking 
sentences  as,  "The  conspiracy  never  previously  had  been 
suspected;"  "The  investment  irrecoverably  •  will  be 
lost;"  "The  speaker  furiously  was  interrupted."  Some- 
times the  attempt  to  observe  the  requirement  puts  an 
adverb  in  a  place  where  it  becomes  confusing,  as  in  the 
following : 

"The  old  French  cruiser  Chateaurenault  was  torpedoed  and 
sunk  in  the  Mediterranean,  and  the  submarine  which  at- 
tacked her  later  was  destroyed,  etc." 

— The  New  York  Tribune,  Dec.  20,  1917. 

We  have  heard  many  desperate  deeds  of  submarines, 
but  this  of  going  down  and  attacking  "later"  a  ship 
that  had  been  already  sunk  surpasses  all. 

There  seems  to  be  nothing  behind  the  rule  but  some- 
one's  ipse  dixit.  The  entire  trend  of  English  usage  is 
against  it.  The  one  adverb  most  frequent  in  negation, 
the  adverb  not,  almost  uniformly  breaks  the  verb- 
phrase;  as,  "I  have  not  seen  him";  "I  will  not  do  it"; 
"I  do  not  believe  it";  "the  package  has  not  come." 
It  is  only  a  very  ill-taught  foreigner  who  says:  "I  not 
have  seen  him";  "I  not  will  do  it";  "the  package  not 
has  come."  This  adverb  not  is  very  apt  to  carry  with 
it  any  associated  adverb,  also,  into  the  place  between 
the  auxiliary  and  the  form  of  the  principal  verb;  as, 
"I  shall  not  soon  forget  your  kindness".  Compare 
this  with,  "I  soon  shall  not  tor  get  your  kindness";  or, 


198  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

"I  shall  not  forget  soon  your  kindness".  Never  tends 
to  the  same  position  as  not;  as,  "I  have  never  met  him" ; 
"I  have  never  heard  so  strange  a  tale";  "He  will  prob- 
ably never  return ". 

Again,  in  questions,  the  subject,  noun  or  pronoun, 
naturally  and  almost  inevitably  comes  between  the  aux- 
iliary and  the  principal  verb ;  as,  "  Will  you  go"?  "Did 
he  say  that"?  The  subject,  so  placed,  very  commonly 
carries  with  it  any  attributive  words;  as,  "Has  that  ex- 
cellent and  estimable  man  been  so  deceived"? 

The  fact  is  that  the  language  is  not  nearly  so  wooden 
as  many  of  its  expositors.  It  trusts  the  auxiliary  to 
pick  up  its  principal  verb  in  almost  any  part  of  the 
sentence,  whatever  may  have  come  between,  and  this  is 
readily  done  by  all  intelligent  people.  Moreover,  the 
association  of  the  adverb  or  qualifying  phrase  is  very 
rarely  with  the  auxiliary,  and  almost  always  with  the 
principal  verb.  If  one  says:  "He  constantly  has 
been — ";  "That  justly  will  be — ";  "This  strenuously 
must  be — ";  those  adverbs  have  practically  no  force 
whatever.  But  if  we  fill  out  the  sentence,  and  say,  "He 
has  been  constantly  misunderstood";  "that  will  be 
justly  administered";  "this  must  be  strenuously  in- 
sisted upon ' ' ;  then  ' '  constantly  misunderstood, "  "  justly 
administered,"  "strenuously  insisted  upon"  have  defi- 
nite and  vigorous  meaning,  because  each  adverb  is 
closely  joined  to  the  principal  verb  which  it  is  of  inter- 
est and  consequence  that  it  should  modify.  Suppose 
one  inspects  a  body  of  troops,  and  finds  the  clothing  de- 
fective ;  he  may  easily  sum  up  the  result  without  form- 
ing a  sentence,  and  say  "insufficiently  clothed";  but  if 
he  starts  to  form  a  sentence,  "The  men  insufficiently" 
means  nothing,  and  "The  men  insufficiently  were"  still 
means  nothing;  he  may  say,  "The  men  insufficiently 


ENGLISH    GRAMMAR  199 

were  clothed,"  but  in  so  doing  he  has  separated  his  ad- 
verb from  the  one  vital  element  which  it  must  modify 
if  the  sentence  is  to  mean  anything,  and  has  secured  by 
much  labor  a  forced  construction,  which  is  elaborately 
obscure,  because  the  only  way  the  reference  of  an  ad- 
verb can  be  known  in  English  is  by  its  position,  as  near 
as  possible  to  the  word  it  is  to  modify.  But  if  he  says, 
"The  men  were  insufficiently  clothed,"  he  has  massed 
his  meaning  with  compactness  and  cohesion,  so  that  the 
reader  or  hearer  gets  the  whole  idea  at  a  stroke.  Such 
English  is  both  easy  and  natural,  and  has  been  favored 
throughout  the  whole  course  of  English  literature.  In 
fact,  the  natural  adjustment  of  the  auxiliary  to  its  prin- 
cipal verb  across  any  intervening  words  is  so  commonly 
required  and  so  readily  made  that  it  is  hard  to  gather 
specimens  of  it,  the  mind  slipping  down  the  stream  of 
such  fluent  construction  so  readily  as  not  to  note  any 
break  in  the  movement.  Let  us  consider  a  few  passages 
that  have  been  hastily  gathered  from  the  Authorized 
Version  of  the  Scriptures : 

Gen.  ii,  16-17.  Of  every  tree  of  the  garden  them  mayest 
freely  eat:  But  of  the  tree  of  the  knowledge  of  good  and 
evil,  thou  shalt  not  eat  of  it :  for  in  the  day  that  thou  eatest 
thereof  thou  shalt  surely  die. 

Would  it  improve  this  to  write,  "Thou  surely  shalt  die," 
or  "Surely  thou  shalt  die?" 

2  Sam.  ix,  7.    I  will  surely  shew  thee  kindness. 

Prov.  xxix,  1.  He  that  being  often  reproved,  hardeneth 
his  neck,  shall  suddenly  be  destroyed,  and  that  without 
remedy. 

If.  xxiv,  3.     The  land  shall  be  utterly  emptied. 

Jer.  xlii,  10.     If  ye  will  still  abide  in  this  place. 

Ezra  iv,  18.  The  letter  which  ye  sent  unto  us  hath  been 
plainly  read  before  me. 


200  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

Acts  ii,  8.  Nothing  common  nor  unclean  hath  at  any  time 
entered  into  my  mouth. 

Rev.  xxi,  27.  And  there  shall  in  no  wise  enter  into  it 
anything  that  defileth. 

Or,  again,  from  Shakespeare: 

777  King  Henry  VI,  Act  i,  Sc.  2.  While  you  are  thus 
employed. 

Ib.,  Act  i,  Sc.  4.  'Tis  beauty  that  doth  oft  make  women 
proud. 

Ib.,  Act  ii,  Sc.  1. 

And  he  that  throws  no*  up  his  cap  for  joy 
Shall  for  that  fault  make  forfeit  of  his  head. 

King  Richard  III,  Act  iii,  Sc.  1. 

For  we  to-morrow  hold  divided  councils 
Wherein  thyself  shalt  highly  be  employed. 

Ib.,  Act  ii,  Sc.  2.  I  know  they  do,  and  I  have  well  de- 
served it. 

King  Henry  VIII,  Act  i,  Sc.  2. 
I  have  no  farther  gone  in  this 
Than  by  a  single  voice. 

From  the  "Spectator"  illustrations  become  so  numer- 
ous that  we  may  content  ourselves  with  quoting  a  few 
from  a  single  paper  by  Addison  (Vol.  viii,  No.  387)  : 

But  having  already  touched  on  this  last  consideration,  I 
shall  here  take  notice,  etc. 

We  may  further  observe  how  Providence  has  taken  care, 
etc. 

I  shall  not  here  mention  the  several  entertainments  of  art. 

This  interspersion  of  evil  with  good  is  very  truly  ascribed, 
etc. 

Similar  illustrations  may  be  found  on  almost  any  page, 
and  in  the  work  of  any  one  of  that  brilliant  corps  of 
"Spectator"  writers.  From  Macaulay  we  may  select 
the  following,  which  occur  in  the  essay  on  Lord  Bacon : 


ENGLISH   GRAMMAR  201 

His  fine  was  speedily  released  by  the  crown.  He  was  next 
suffered  to  present  himself  at  court. 

Our  opinion  of  the  moral  character  of  this  man  has  al- 
ready been  sufficiently  explained. 

Again  from  the  essay  on  Lord  Clive: 

An  army  of  forty  thousand  men  was  speedily  assembled 
round  him. 

From  the  essay  on  Frederick  the  Great: 

It  might  not  unreasonably  be  expected,  etc. 

The  Saxon  camp  at  Pirna  was  in  the  meantime  closely 
invested. 

But  we  should  very  imperfectly  describe  the  state  of  Fred- 
erick's mind,  etc. 

Here  citations  must  stop,  or  we  should  have  to  quote 
a  large  part  of  English  literature.  In  a  word,  there  is 
absolutely  no  literary  warrant  for  putting  adverbs  and 
limiting  expressions  in  purgatory,  in  order  to  keep  every 
auxiliary  of  a  verb-phrase  solid  with  its  principal  verb 
for  the  benefit  of  those  who  are  supposed  not  to  have 
the  wit  to  put  the  parts  together  if  they  are  once  sepa- 
rated. The  English  language  luxuriates  in  confidence 
in  the  common  sense  of  those  who  inherit  it,  and  BO 
gives  them  ample  measure  of  wholesome  freedom. 

The  auxiliaries  shall  and  will  do  offer  certain  diffi- 
culties which  no  one  believes  that  any  one  else  has  per- 
fectly mastered.  We  are  reminded  of  Bunyan's  de- 
scription : 

"Yea,  and  to  my  knowledge,  said  he,  here  have  been  swal- 
lowed up  at  least  twenty  thousand  cartloads,  yea  millions 
of  wholesome  instructions,  that  have  -at  all  seasons  been 
brought  from  all  places  of  the  King's  dominions;  (and  they 
that  can  tell  say,  that  they  are  the  best  materials  to  make 
good  ground  of  the  place,  if  so  be  it  might  be  mended)." 


202  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

Yet  there  is  a  charm  in  the  midst  of  the  perplexities. 
For  English  has  performed  the  unique  feat  of  dividing 
the  future  longitudinally  along  parallel  lines,  so  that 
shall  is  as  much  future  as  will,  and  will  as  much  future 
as  shall,  but  a  different  future.  For  example: 

"Truth,  crushed  to  earth,  shall  rise  again." 

How  weak  and  flat  that  would  become,  if  we  were  to 
make  it  "will  rise  again,"  because  we  should  have  lost 
the  future  of  resolve  or  destiny,  and  acquired  only  that 
of  extended  time.  Shall,  from  the  Anglo-Saxon  sceal, 
the  present  indicative  of  sculan,  to  owe  (hence  to  be 
under  obligation  or  necessity),  has  a  force  and  impli- 
cation that  will  never  attains.  On  the  other  hand,  will, 
from  the  Anglo-Saxon  willan,  signifies  to  have  purpose 
or  intention,  and  may  at  times,  by  emphasis,  denote  the 
most  strenuous  resolution.  In  ordinary  use,  as  making 
up  the  future  tense,  these  original  meanings  are  shaded 
off  so  as  to  be  less  sharply  distinctive.  In  this  way  are 
formed  two  schemes  of  the  future  tense,  one  declarative, 
denoting  simple  anticipated  fact;  the  other  purposive, 
denoting  volition,  either  as  exercised  by  the  speaker  for 
himself  or  as  enforced  upon  the  one  spoken  to  or  spoken 
of.  Thus : 

(Declarative)  (Purposive) 


I  shall 
he  will 
we  shall 
you  will 
they  will 


I  will 
he  shall 
»-  go  we  will 

you  shall 
they  shall 


Thus  shall  and  will  change  with  the  persons  in  a  way 
that  is  to  learners  somewhat  perplexing,  but  is  easily 
mastered  by  a  little  study  and  care. 


ENGLISH    GRAMMAR  203 

But  having  learned  this  broad  distinction,  many  at 
once  fall  into  error  by  supposing  this  rule  of  thumb  to 
cover  all  cases  of  the  use  of  shall  and  will.  Thus  the 
author  of  a  work  for  the  most  part  able  and  scholarly 
complicates  the  whole  question  of  these  auxiliaries  into 
one  of  dark  perplexity  by  making  this  rule  exclusive, 
and  then  censuring  all  other  use  as  erroneous,  no  mat- 
ter how  numerous  or  eminent  the  authorities  for  the 
varying  use.  For  example,  he  writes : 

"Shall  is  a  word  of  authority  and  command.  .  .  .  Shall 
is  properly  used  only  by  the  power  that  can  enforce  it. 

"But  what  is  'I  shall?'  Remembering  that  shall  expresses 
compulsion  emanating  from  the  speaker,  if  the  natural  sense 
of  the  words  be  regarded,  they  mean,  'I  will  compel  myself.' 
But  it  is  only  the  unwilling  who  need  compulsion;  and  if 
unwilling,  whence  comes  the  motive-power  to  compel?  The 
expression,  like  several  others,  is  an  absurdity." 

Shall  is  properly  used  only  by  one  in  authority,  but  in  the 
Bible  it  is  in  the  mouths  of  all  alike.  Again,  one  having 
authority  does  not  command  or  threaten  anything  at  vari- 
ance with  bis  own  character  and  sentiments. 

"For  many  shall  come  in  my  name,  saying  I  am  Christ, 
and  shall  deceive  many.  .  .  .  Nation  shall  rise  against  na- 
tion and  kingdom  against  kingdom.  .  .  .  Then  shall  they 
deliver  you  up  to  be  afflicted  and  shall  kill  you.  .  .  .  And 
many  false  prophets  shall  arise  and  shall  deceive  many. 

"It  would  be  inconsistent  with  all  ideas  ever  entertained 
of  Jesus  to  think  these  calamities  and  wrongs  ordered,  in- 
tended, or  desired  by  him.  .  .  .  Evidently  shall  was  merely 
an  expression  of  futurity." 

The  simple  fact  is,  as  this  author's  own  examples 
should  have  shown  him,  that  shall  is  often  and  elegantly 
used  to  express  something  more  and  other  than  com- 
mand or  compulsion, — what  is  destined  or  sure  to  hap- 
pen, a  certain  future  result  or  event  without  reference 


204  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

to  any  one's  authority  or  volition.  "I  shall  be  at  the 
office  to-morrow  (in  the  ordinary  course  of  events)." 
David  says  of  his  lost  child: 

"I  shall  go  to  him  but  he  shall  not  return  to  me." 

—2  Sam.  xii,  23. 

The  prophetess  says  to  the  unwilling  warrior: 

"I  will  surely  go  with  thee;  notwithstanding  the  journey 
that  thou  takest  shall  not  be  for  thine  honor;  for  the  Lord 
shall  sell  Sisera  into  the  hand  of  a  woman." — Judges  iv,  8-9. 

Not  that  she  could  compel  or  coerce  the  Almighty,  but 
she  had  a  vision  of  the  destined  sure  event.  Thus  Eng- 
lish speech  and  literature  are  full  of  instances  of  the 
delicate  and  effective  use  of  shall  where  no  thought  of 
personal  command  or  compulsion  can  be  suggested.  So 
the  distinction  between  shall  and  will  passes  far  be- 
yond a  technical  rule  of  grammar,  and  becomes  a  mat- 
ter of  style.  He  who  insists  on  a  narrow  iron  rule  or  a 
metaphysical  explanation  will  miss  this  nicety  of  lan- 
guage forever,  while  it  will  become  delightfully  clear 
and  satisfying  to  him  who  will  simply  steep  himself  in 
the  best  English  usage,  written  or  spoken,  till  he  comes 
not  to  wrangle  or  dogmatize  about  it,  but  to  feel  it. 

PREPOSITIONS  and  CONJUNCTIONS  have  been  treated  in 
the  chapter  on  connectives,  the  links  of  style. 

INTERJECTIONS  constitute  a  kind  of  formless  emotional 
language  which  may  be  appended  almost  anywhere  to 
the  formal  and  analytical  style.  These  words  are  com- 
monly said  to  have  no  grammatical  connection  with  the 
rest  of  the  sentence  in  which  they  appear.  Yet  the  in- 
terjection often  gives  a  fulness  to  expression  of  thought 
and  feeling  that  could  not  otherwise  be  secured.  Thus, 
"Oh  that  Israel  had  hearkened  to  my  voice  and  my  peo- 


ENGLISH    GRAMMAR  205 

pie  had  walked  in  my  ways."  Here  the  "Oh"  com- 
pletes the  sentence  with  a  touch  of  feeling,  as  it  were 
breathing  a  soul  into  the  statement  which  would  be  dry 
and  formal  without  it. 

English  syntax  is  determined  by  the  lack  of  inflection 
in  the  language.  An  inflected  language,  as  the  Latin, 
could  put  a  noun  or  pronoun  almost  anywhere  in  the 
sentence,  because  the  form  of  the  word  would  show 
whether  it  was  subject  or  object  of  the  verb.  Thus,  the 
Latin  word  Roma  is  nominative  in  form,  and  can  never 
be  the  object  of  a  verb.  If  it  is  to  be  an  object,  its  form 
must  be  changed  to  Romam  (the  Latin  accusative,  cor- 
responding to  the  English  objective  case).  That  form, 
Roma:n,  may  be  placed  anywhere  in  a  sentence,  and  will 
still  show  its  case  by  its  form.  In  like  manner  the  noun 
Carthago  must  be  a  nominative,  and  can  not  under  any 
circumstances  be  the  object  of  a  verb.  If  it  is  to  be 
made  the  object,  its  form  must  be  changed  to  the  ac- 
cusative Carthaginem.  The  English  sentence  ''Rome 
destroyed  Carthage,"  may  be  translated  verbatim  into 
Latin  as:  "Roma  delevit  Carthaginem,"  but,  because 
Roma  shows  by  its  form  that  it  is  a  nominative,  while 
Carthaginem  shows  by  its  form  that  it  is  an  objective, 
the  order  of  the  words  may  be  changed  in  any  possible 
way  without  affecting  the  meaning.  We  may  have: 

Roma  delevit  Carthaginem; 
Delevit  Carthaginem  Roma; 
Delevit  Roma  Carthaginem; 
Carthaginem  delevit  Roma; 
Carthaginem  Roma  delevit; 
Roma  Carthaginem  delevit. 

In  either  arrangement  the  meaning  of  the  sentence  is 
not  affected  in  the  slightest  degree.  In  any  one  of  these 
six  forms  the  sentence  means  that  Rome  was  the  de- 


206  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

stroyer,  and  Carthage  the  destroyed.  Now  try  a  similar 
inversion  in  English: 

Home  destroyed  Carthage; 
Carthage  destroyed  Eome: 

and  we  have  a  flat  contradiction,  unless  we  mean  that 
each  destroyed  the  other.  "Carthage  destroyed  Eome" 
would  contradict  the  truth  of  history.  If  we  say, 
"Carthage  Rome  destroyed,"  or  "Rome  Carthage  de- 
stroyed," we  cannot  decide  from  either  of  those  sen- 
tences which  was  the  destroyer,  and  which  the  destroyed. 
We  have  lost  the  advantage  of  position  of  the  nominative 
and  objective,  which  alone  could  make  the  meaning 
sure  in  English. 

As  the  English  personal  pronouns  and  the  pronoun 
who  have  distinct  forms  in  the  objective  case,  their  ob- 
jectives are  not  necessarily  limited  to  the  place  after  the 
verb,  but  may  take  any  position  in  the  sentence;  as, 
"Me  he  restored  to  mine  office;" — "Them  will  I  bring 
to  my  holy  mountain;" — "Whom  he  would  he  set  up, 
and  whom  he  would  he  put  down."  Yet  the  tendency 
to  place  the  object  after  the  verb  is  so  strong  in  English 
that  objective  pronouns  are  as  a  rule  ordinarily  so 
placed;  as  "The  work  pleases  me;" —  "His  mother 
loves  him." 

GRAMMAR  BROADENS  THE  BASE  OF  CULTURE 

An  adequate  knowledge  of  grammar  tends  to  the 
democratization  of  culture.  You  tell  us  that  one  who 
has  been  brought  up  in  cultured  society,  and  in  favora- 
ble surroundings,  will  speak  English  correctly  with  no 
special  knowledge  or  thought  of  grammar.  This  is  a 
limited  truth,  which  is  often  flung  out  as  the  challenge 
of  a  caste  or  clique,  as  if  one  should  say,  Is  not  that 
enough?  What  more  would  you  ask?  In  such  view 


ENGLISH    GRAMMAR  207 

you  offer  us  the  aristocracy  of  culture.  Would  you 
hear  correct  English?  Associate  only  with  the  cultured 
and  favored  few.  Would  you  use  correct  English?  Be 
one  of  that  charmed  circle.  For  the  rest  of  mankind, 
they  exist  that  you  may  have  the  privilege  of  smiling 
at  their  uncouthness. 

But  is  the  superior  smile  of  a  cultured  group,  even 
if  that  group  includes  yourself,  an  adequate  reason  for 
the  existence  of  multitudes  of  human  beings?  Why 
not  extend  the  circle  of  correctness  to  include  the  whole 
host  of  humanity,  and  bring  all  into  a  true  "  republic 
of  letters?" 

The  things  that  make  cultured  and  elegant  speech 
can  be  stated  in  clear  words.  These  statements  can  be 
arranged  in  consistent  relation  to  each  other  so  as  to 
form  a  grammatical  system,  which  can  be  learned  by 
any  intelligent  person,  so  that  all  educated  people  may 
share  in  excellence  of  language,  and  each  one  be,  not  a 
member  of  a  little  self-satisfied  clique,  but  a  citizen  of 
a  vast  realm  where  all  share  in  the  inspiration,  the 
power,  and  the  freedom  of  a  truly  cultured  speech. 
That  is  a  desirable  object  of  education,  worthy  of  study 
and  toil  to  teach  and  win. 

Such  systematized  grammatical  study  tends  to  the 
unity  of  the  language: 

1.  In  space.  A  widely  extended  language  tends  to 
break  up  into  dialect  by  mere  extent  and  diffusion. 
Communities  separated  by  mountain  ranges,  by  rivers, 
or  even  by  oceans,  the  members  of  which  rarely,  if  ever, 
meet  each  other  in  personal  converse,  insensibly  de- 
velop different  forms  and  meanings  of  words,  and  dif- 
ferent methods  of  connecting  words  and  ideas  in  con- 
tinuous speech,  or,  as  we  say,  differences  of  idiom.  Thus 
dialects  springing  from  a  common  stock  may  drift  so 


208  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

widely  apart  that  those  using  one  cannot  understand 
the  other.  To  prevent  this  the  dictionary  must  hold 
the  words  to  a  common  form  and  meaning,  and  the 
grammar  must  hold  the  methods  of  connecting  words 
to  a  common  model.  Especially  in  the  "  far-flung " 
English  speech,  which  is  constantly  enrolling  recruits 
from  every  race  and  nation,  there  is  not  merely  disin- 
tegration, but  absolute  conflict  and  wrenching,  as  each 
new  learner  seeks  to  distort  this  strange  English  to  suit 
his  preconceived  ideas  of  what  a  language  should  be. 
Here  a  system  of  grammar,  established  and  honored, 
and  the  same  on  every  soil  or  shore,  has  useful  and 
commanding  place. 

2.  In  time.  Every  language,  like  every  living  organ- 
ism, is  undergoing  a  constant  process  of  change,  so  long 
as  it  is  alive.  The  perspectives  of  years,  generations, 
and  centuries  vary.  The  vicissitudes  of  prosperity  and. 
adversity,  of  war  and  peace,  the  advance  or  decline  of 
agriculture,  manufactures,  and  various  arts,  the  free- 
dom or  restriction  of  travel,  insensibly  cause  adoption 
of  new  words,  the  dropping  of  some  once  in  favor,  and 
the  extension  or  restriction  of  meaning  of  those  still 
favored.  It  is  only  in  the  dead  languages  that  rules  and 
meanings  are  absolute  and  changeless.  The  English 
language,  at  the  forefront  of  every  great  movement  of 
the  world's  progress,  must  have  rational  privilege  of 
variation  with  movement  of  time  and  events.  A  true 
system  of  English  grammar,  historic  in  basis,  rational  in 
construction,  yet  free  and  elastic  as  the  movements  of 
life  demand,  will  enable  the  language  to  change  and  de- 
velop by  the  advancing  activity  of  life,  but  not  by  retro- 
gression, decline,  and  decay,  keeping  ever  through  the 
advancing  present  a  grand  unity  with  the  best  of  all  its 
mighty  and  glorious  past. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  ENLARGEMENT  AND  IMPROVEMENT 
OF  THE  VOCABULARY 

The  vocabulary  of  any  person  is  the  number  of  words 
which  that  person  habitually  uses ;  or,  in  a  wider  sense, 
the  number  of  words  that  he  readily  understands  when 
he  hears  or  reads  them.  As  regards  expression,  the 
first  sense  only  is  of  importance,  namely:  the  number 
of  words  that  one  habitually  or  readily  uses.  Persons 
are  numerous  who  recognize  a  twenty-dollar  gold-piece 
or  bank-note,  when  they  see  it;  but  they  very  seldom 
see  either,  and  for  all  practical  purposes  of  life  they 
are  as  if  those  denominations  of  money  did  not  exist. 
"We  are  rich  only  by  the  money  in  our  actual  possession 
or  ready  for  us  on  call.  Similarly,  our  vocabulary  is 
the  aggregate  of  words  we  have  in  actual  possession,  so 
that  we  can  produce  them  on  demand.  A  former  Amer- 
ican consul  at  Rome  remarked  on  one  occasion,  ' '  Though 
I  have  been  resident  at  Rome  for  twenty  years,  and  can 
understand  anything  that  an  Italian  gentleman  or  lady 
may  say,  I  can  not  yet  understand  the  talk  of  the  com- 
mon people  on  the  street.  Yet  these  people  all  under- 
stand what  a  gentleman  or  lady  may  say  to  them  in  pure 
Italian. ' '  That  is,  the  common  people  recognize  the  bet- 
ter speech  when  it  comes  before  them,  but  for  all  the 
ordinary  purposes  of  life,  the  pure  Italian  does  not  exist 
for  them. 

This  is,  to  a  considerable  degree,  the  case  with  the 
average  American  schoolboy  and  schoolgirl,  and  with 

209 


210  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

the  slightly  educated  classes  of  the  community,  though 
much  modified  by  our  general  system  of  public  instruc- 
tion. The  children  and  the  crowd  understand  the  schol- 
arly style  when  they  hear  or  read  it,  but  they  regard  it 
as  a  kind  of  dress-parade  speech,  which  they  would 
never  think  of  using  in  common  life;  and  they  would 
soon  find  themselves  confused,  if  they  should  try  to 
speak  it.  There  is  an  anecdote  in  a  recent  paper  of  a 
mother  who  was  much  annoyed  by  her  boy's  way  of 
talking  to  his  dog.  "Tom,"  she  said,  "why  will  you 
constantly  say  to  Jeff,  'Set  up,'  when  you  know  per- 
fectly well  you  ought  to  say  'sit  up'?"  "Oh,  well, 
mother,"  Tom  cheerfully  replied,  "of  course  I  have  lots 
of  grammar,  but  I  don't  want  to  waste  it  on  him,  when 
he's  only  a  dog." 

But  the  great  object  of  the  study  of  language  is,  to 
gain  command  of  a  pure,  noble,  and  elegant  type  of 
speech,  which  shall  come  readily  to  tongue  or  pen,  and 
which  shall  not  be  too  good  for  daily  use.  At  the  same 
time  one  who  aspires  to  literary  composition  or  public 
speaking  should  be  able  to  rise  still  above  what  is  good 
and  admirable  for  ordinary  use,  and  to  employ  a  choicer 
style  of  especial  dignity,  according  to  the  demands  of 
the  subject  and  the  occasion. 

The  important  consideration  is,  what  range  of  words 
each  one  of  us  has  available  as  the  means  of  expression 
of  our  own  thought.  If  we  go  back  to  the  etymology  of 
the  word  "vocabulary,"  which  is  from  voco,  call,  we 
may  say  that  the  vocabulary  of  every  person  is  the  num- 
ber of  words  he  has  ready  on  call. 

The  English  language  contains  upward  of  400,000 
words,  for  more  than  that  number  have  been  actually 
listed  in  the  Standard  Dictionary.  But  the  words  actu- 
ally used  by  any  one  person  are  the  merest  fraction  of 


ENLARGEMENT  OF  THE  VOCABULARY  211 

this  vast  store.  Dr.  George  P.  Marsh,  writing  in  1850, 
and  estimating  the  number  of  English  words  then  in 
actual  use  at  100,000,  says: 

"Now  there  are  persons  who  know  this  vocabulary  in  nearly 
its  whole  extent,  but  they  understand  a  large  proportion  of 
it,  very  much  as  they  are  acquainted  with  Greek  or  Latin, 
that  is,  as  the  dialect  of  books  or  of  special  arts  or  profes- 
sions, and  not  as  a  living  speech,  the  common  language  of 
daily  and  hourly  thought.  Or  if,  like  some  celebrated  Eng- 
lish and  American  orators,  living  and  dead,  they  are  able 
upon  occasion  to  bring  into  the  field  in  the  war  of  words 
even  the  half  of  this  vast  array  of  light  and  heavy  troops, 
yet  they  habitually  content  themselves  with  a  much  less 
imposing  array  of  verbal  force,  and  use  for  ordinary  purpose 
but  a  very  small  proportion  of  the  words  they  have  at  their 
command.  Out  of  our  immense  magazine  of  words  and  their 
combinations,  every  man  selects  his  own  implements  and 
weapons.  .  .  . 

"Few  writers  or  speakers  use  as  many  as  10,000  words, 
ordinary  persons  of  fair  intelligence  not  above  three  or  four 
thousand.  If  a  scholar  were  required  to  name,  without  exam- 
ination the  authors  whose  English  vocabulary  was  the  largest, 
he  would  probably  specify  the  all-embracing  Shakespeare 
and  the  all-knowing  Milton.  And  yet,  in  all  the  works  of 
the  great  dramatist  there  occur  not  more  than  15,000  words, 
in  the  poems  of  Milton  not  above  8,000.  .  .  . 

"To  those  whose  attention  has  not  been  turned  to  the  sub- 
ject, these  are  surprising  facts,  but  if  we  run  over  a  few 
pages  of  a  dictionary  and  observe  how  great  a  proportion  of 
the  words  are  such  as  we  do  not  ourselves  individually  use, 
we  shall  be  forced  to  conclude  that  we  each  find  a  very  lim- 
ited vocabulary  sufficient  for  our  own  purposes." 

Even  a  small  vest-pocket  dictionary  contains  some 
25,000  words.  From  the  number  of  English  words  actu- 
ally used,  listed,  and  defined  we  see  how  wide  is  the 
range  of  possible  choice.  Probably  there  is  not  one  of 
us  who  could  not  greatly  improve  our  power  of  expres- 
sion by  increasing  the  number  of  well-chosen  words 


212  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

ready  for  use  at  our  pleasure.  Many  persons  would  be 
astonished,  if  their  conversation  could  be  reproduced  by 
dictaphone,  to  find  how  often  they  repeat  some  few 
words,  or  even  some  single  word.  They  would  find  the 
same  characteristic  in  their  own  hastily  written  letters. 
That  is,  they  are  unconsciously  restricting  themselves  to 
an  exceedingly  limited  vocabulary,  when  a  wider  range 
of  words  would  be,  not  only  more  elegant,  but  also  more 
interesting  and  expressive.  An  extreme  instance  of  such 
limitation  may  be  seen  in  the  following  copy  of  a  letter 
taken  from  an  old  English  publication : 

"I  got  on  horseback  within  ten  minutes  after  I  got  your 
letter.  When  I  got  to  Canterbury,  I  got  &  chaise  for  town, 
but  I  got  wet  through  before  I  got  to  Canterbury,  and  I  have 
got  such  a  cold  as  I  shall  not  be  able  to  get  rid  of  in  a 
hurry.  I  got  to  the  Treasury  about  noon,  but,  first  of  all,  I 
got  shaved  and  dressed.  I  soon  got  into  the  secret  of  getting 
a  memorial  before  the  Board,  but  I  could  not  get  an  answer 
then.  However,  I  got  intelligence  from  the  messenger  that 
I  should  most  likely  get  an  answer  the  next  morning.  As 
soon  as  I  got  back  to  my  inn,  I  got  to  bed.  It  was  not  long 
before  I  got  to  sleep.  When  I  got  up  in  the  morning,  I  got 
myself  dressed,  and  got  my  breakfast,  that  I  might  get  out 
in  time  to  get  an  answer  to  my  memorial.  As  soon  as  I  got 
it,  I  got  into  the  chaise  and  got  to  Canterbury  by  three,  and 
about  tea-time  I  got  home.  I  have  got  nothing  more  to  say." 

Here  the  unfortunate  word  "get"  occurs  in  some  form 
twenty-eight  times.  The  use  of  nineteen  new  words  is 
urgently  called  for,  besides  the  varying  of  phrase  at 
other  points.  By  these  slight  changes  the  letter  may  be 
made  very  presentable.  Thus : 

"I  mounted  on  horseback  within  ten  minutes  after  I 
received  your  letter.  When  I  reached  Canterbury,  I  procured 
a  chaise  for  town,  but  I  had  become  wet  through  before  I 
arrived  at  Canterbury,  and  I  have  taken  such  a  cold  as  I 
shall  not  be  able  to  recover  from  in  a  hurry.  I  went  to  the 


ENLARGEMENT  OF  THE  VOCABULARY  213 

Treasury  about  noon,  but  first  of  all  I  took  care  to  be  shaved 
and  dressed.  I  soon  learned  the  secret  of  bringing  a  memorial 
before  the  Board,  but  I  could  not  secure  an  answer  then. 
However,  I  obtained  intelligence  from  the  messenger  that  I 
should  most  likely  receive  an  answer  the  next  morning.  As 
soon  as  I  returned  to  my  inn,  I  had  my  supper,  and  went 
to  bed.  It  was  not  long  before  I  fell  asleep.  When  I  arose 
in  the  morning,  I  dressed  and  ate  my  breakfast,  that  I  might 
go  out  in  time  to  obtain  an  answer  to  my  memorial.  As  soon 
as  I  received  it,  I  got  into  the  chaise,  and  arrived  at  Canter- 
bury by  three,  and  about  tea-time  I  reached  home.  I  have 
nothing  more  to  say." 

It  is  to  be  noticed  that  none  of  the  words  thus  sup- 
plied are  out  of  the  ordinary.  All  are  such  as  any  intel- 
ligent person  should  be  able  to  use  without  a  second 
thought.  The  illustration  shows,  however,  that  a  speaker 
or  writer  needs  to  have  at  command  a  very  considerable 
number  of  good  words,  in  order  to  express  himself  well, 
even  in  a  brief  communication. 

But  mere  number  of  words  is  not  enough ;  they  must 
be  excellent,  appropriate,  felicitous  words.  Every  one 
has  heard  persons  who,  in  public  address  and  in  con- 
versation, had  an  inexhaustible  supply  of  words  with  a 
readily  exhaustible  supply  of  thought,  making  us  recall 
Hamlet,  who,  in  his  answer  to  an  intrusive  question : 

<rWhat  do  you  read,  my  lord  ?" 
replied, 

"Words,  words,  words;" 

or  the  glib  talker  caricatured  in  "The  Merchant  of 
Venice " :  ' '  Gratiano  speaks  an  infinite  deal  of  nothing ; 
more  than  any  man  in  all  Venice."  An  abundant,  but 
ill-chosen  and  ill-assorted  vocabulary  gives  one  the  im- 
pression you  gain  in  going  through  some  bargain-stores, 
where  the  articles  are  numerous  enough  and  cheap  in 
price,  but  also  cheap  in  quality,  and  you  feel  that  you 


214  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

are  letting  down  the  standards  of  life  by  even  spending 
your  time  among  them.  Hence,  in  seeking  to  increase 
the  store  of  words  at  our  command,  we  should  take  pains 
also  to  improve  our  stock  by  adding  only  such  as  are 
among  the  real  treasures  of  speech,  just  as  we  would 
avoid  seeking  a  false  appearance  of  wealth  by  wearing 
paste  diamonds  and  filling  our  purses  with  counterfeit 
money.  The  enlargement  and  improvement  may  even  at 
times  consist  in  dropping  some  less  desirable  words  quite 
out  of  use,  or  in  using  much  more  seldom  than  hereto- 
fore certain  words  excellent  in  themselves,  but  that  have 
been  indiscriminately  employed  for  meanings  that  other 
words  may  more  fitly  express.  On  this  subject,  Edwin 
L.  Shuman  in  his  "Practical  Journalism"  (p.  171)  very 
admirably  remarks: 

"The  right  use  of  words  should  be  a  matter  of  life-long 
study.  No  man  can  ever  learn  all  there  is  to  know  about 
the  magnificent  instrument  of  expression  called  the  English 
language,  but  any  student  can  in  time  acquire  a  pure  and 
beautiful  diction. 

"The  best  guide  to  such  a  style  is  a  sensitive  literary  con- 
science, acquired  by  reading  only  the  best  authors  and  absorb- 
ing their  vocabulary.  This  should  be  supplemented  with  a 
habitual  study  of  the  root-meanings  of  words. 

"The  errors  that  most  do  flourish  in  the  reporters'  room 
of  the  modern  newspaper  consist  in  the  slight  misuse  of 
words — not  marked  enough  to  attain  the  charm  of  Mrs  Part- 
ington's  literary  style,  yet  not  correct  enough  to  be  good 
English.  ...  I  have  little  sympathy  with  the  purists,  who 
would  reduce  the  English  to  a  dead  language  by  forbidding 
all  change  or  growth.  .  .  .  But  the  fact  remains  that  a 
habitual  carelessness  in  the  choice  of  words  ruins  the  writer's 
style,  and  ultimately  extinguishes  his  hope  of  advancement." 

The  work  necessary  for  the  enlargement  and  improve- 
ment of  the  vocabulary  may  be  divided  into  three 
branches, — reading,  hearing,  and  doing. 


ENLABOEMBWT    OF    THE    VOCABULARY    215 


I.     READING 

The  first  requirement  for  an  adequate  vocabulary  is 
general  reading.  This  reading  for  command  of  words  is 
different  from  reading  for  mastery  of  any  particular 
subject.  In  the  latter  case  you  will  read  a  great  number 
of  books  of  the  same  kind,  as  law  books,  medical  books, 
or  the  like.  But  to  gain  an  extensive  supply  of  valuable 
words,  you  want  to  make  your  reading  as  wide  and  as 
various  as  possible,  with  the  single  proviso  that  it  shall 
be  in  really  good  English.  It  must  be  excellent  of  its 
kind, — worth  being  influenced  by,  and  worth  remem- 
bering. 

1.  Read  books  in  distinction  from  periodicals  and 
newspapers.  We  do  an  uncomputed  amount  of  fugitive 
reading,  absolutely  without  value,  and  almost  without 
motive.  The  news  of  the  day  we  must  note.  Current 
opinion,  as  shown  in  able  reviews,  we  wish  to  follow.  A 
light,  breezy  story  may  sometimes  rest  by  unbending  the 
mind.  Some  of  our  magazine  stories  and  articles  are 
beautiful  as  well  as  entertaining,  and  have  the  advan- 
tage of  giving  the  best  current  speech  of  our  own  very 
day.  The  dialect  stories  so  much  in  vogue  for  a  while, 
and  still  appearing  at  times,  are  from  a  literary  point 
of  view,  simple  abominations.  Inaccuracy  and  imper- 
fection are  easy  enough  to  find.  We  do  not  need  that 
any  one  should  exploit  them  for  us  in  print.  We  would 
not  join  in  the  old  stereotyped  criticism  of  "  newspaper 
English."  However  it  may  once  have  been,  the  better 
class  of  newspapers  of  the  present  day  have  attained  a 
very  admirable  style, — for  its  purpose,  the  statement  of 
facts  and  the  expression  of  opinion  on  the  passing  events 
and  current  topics  of  the  day.  Their  editors  are  able 
men,  often  highly  educated,  always  well  educated  for 


216  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

their  special  work.  From  the  driving  haste  with  which 
their  issues  are  sent  forth,  errors  will  slip  in,  at  which 
we  enjoy  many  a  chuckle.  But  if  the  most  careful  and 
profound  scholar  were  to  attempt  to  get  out  one  issue 
within  their  limited  time,  he  would  give  them  ampler 
opportunity  to  laugh  at  him.  Moreover,  he  would  often 
improve  the  staid  drowsiness  of  his  own  style,  if  he 
could  catch  the  life,  movement,  stir,  crispness,  and  vigor 
which  a  good  editor  or  reviewer  puts  into  his  best 
articles.  The  weakness  of  the  newspaper  style  is  that 
it  is  fugitive,  momentary,  and  compelled  to  be  "popu- 
lar." An  editor  who  should  "write  for  immortality," 
or  for  posterity,  would  not  be  an  editor  long.  Neverthe- 
less a  higher  and  more  enduring  style  is  required  for 
the  best  purposes  of  literature  and  oratory. 

Vocabulary-building  should  go  beyond  commonplace 
words  and  momentary  interests.  We  need  the  materials 
supplied  by  the  world  of  books.  Then,  we  must  get  over 
the  illusion  that ' '  a  book  is  a  book. ' '  How  many  of  the 
* '  best  sellers ' '  of  last  year  will  be  remembered  next  year, 
even  by  their  names?  Some  books,  it  is  true,  are  worth 
reading,  even  while  the  authors  are  alive.  There  are  a 
few  such  in  almost  every  generation.  It  would  have 
been  a  mistake  not  to  read  the  "Waverley  Novels"  or 
"Vanity  Fair"  or  "David  Copper-field"  or  "The  Scarlet 
Letter"  when  those  works  came  fresh  from  the  press. 
They  were  as  good  then  as  they  are  to-day.  But,  with 
the  multitude  of  books  now  constantly  appearing,  one 
who  would  read  for  intellect  and  style  can  seldom  afford 
to  read  a  new  book  ' '  to  see  if  it  is  good. "  It  is  a  favorite 
diversion  in  some  parts  of  the  western  United  States  to 
beguile  an  unsuspecting  stranger  into  eating  a  root 
known  as  the  "Indian  turnip,"  which  has  the  peculiar 
quality  that  it  may  be  eaten  in  considerable  quantity 


ENLARGEMENT  OF  THE  VOCABULARY  217 

before  any  bad  taste  is  perceived.  Then  the  guileless 
experimenter  is  as  eager  as  Lady  Macbeth  for  unavail- 
able floods  of  water  to  wash  away  the  intolerable  flavor. 
There  are  some  books  of  sudden  popularity  that  a  good 
mind  may  reject  at  once  on  Dr.  Johnson's  principle. 
When  he  was  challenged  for  condemning  a  book  which 
he  had  not  read,  the  sturdy  old  scholar  replied,  "Sir,  I 
do  not  need  to  eat  a  whole  joint  of  meat  to  find  out 
whether  it  is  tainted.  The  first  mouthful  is  enough. " 
There  are  others  of  which  the  severest  censure  is,  that 
their  reading  is  a  woful  waste  of  time.  When  we  con- 
sider that  no  human  being  can  hope  in  one  lifetime  to 
read  all  the  first-class  books  of  the  world,  little  time 
should  be  spent  on  the  second-class  even,  while  trash 
should  have  no  place.  The  stream  will  not  rise  above 
its  source,  and  our  style  will  not  be  superior  to  that  of 
our  models.  The  average  person  will  do  best  to  take  the 
opinion  of  good  judges,  and  to  pass  by  any  book  not  so 
recommended.  On  the  other  hand,  a  book  that  has  lived 
fifty  years  is  sure  to  be  above  the  ordinary  standard; 
otherwise  it  would  not  have  lived.  Such  books  bring 
one  among  the  master-spirits  of  human  thought,  whose 
language  is  sure  to  partake  of  their  own  greatness. 

When  the  Hungarian  patriot,  Kossuth,  came  to  Amer- 
ica in  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  our  people  were 
surprised  at  his  excellent  and  beautiful  English.  The 
explanation  was  that  he  had  learned  English  from 
books,  and  brought  back  to  us  what  was  best  in  our  own 
literature,  turned  into  living  speech.  Something  like 
this  was  the  experience  of  Mrs.  Browning.  For  years 
an  invalid,  shut  out  from  the  active  world,  she  read  the 
best  of  our  older  literature,  and  gained  a  singularly 
rich  and  elegant  style.  She  was  by  some  critics  cen- 
sured for  affectation  because  she  would  use  from  time 


218  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

to  time  an  archaic  or  even  an  obsolete  word.  But  this 
was  innocently  done.  These  were  the  words  of  the  books 
she  read ;  and  she  did  not  mingle  with  the  world  enough 
to  know  that  the  world  had  left  them  behind.  These, 
however,  are  but  occasional  blemishes  upon  otherwise 
beautiful  work,  fresh  still  because  it  draws  from  the 
accumulated  stores  of  the  past.  Its  excellence  is  shown 
by  the  fact  that  her  poems  have  lived.  It  is  probable 
that  a  speaker  or  writer  who  should  carefully  form  him- 
self upon  the  old  masters,  with  reasonable  consideration 
of  the  present,  would  be  looked  upon  as  having  a  new 
style. 

2.  Read  books,  rather  than  about  books.    Many  think 
they  know  an  author  because  they  have  read  an  article 
about  him  in  an  encyclopedia.     By  that  process  they 
know  the  author  just  as  much  as  they  would  have  known , 
the  man  if  they  had  stood  beside  his  burial  casket.    Not 
much  is  added  by  picking  up  some  few  of  his  sentences 
in  a  volume  of  "Familiar  Quotations."    To  know  him, 
you  must  read  some  mass  of  his  writings: — see  how  he 
leads  up  to  his  subject;  how  he  struggles  through  or 
around  its  difficulties;  how  he  reaches  his  strong  con- 
clusions ;  note  his  faults  and  his  prejudices,  his  strength 
and  his  weakness,  all  that  is  human  in  him ;  breathe  the 
atmosphere  of  his  day,   as  it  insensibly  pervades  his 
work.     Then  he  and  his  style  are  real  to  you  forever- 
more. 

3.  Read  in  quantities: — just  as  much  as  you  have 
time  for,  and  can  master  at  one  stretch.    By  such  read- 
ing your  mind  becomes  charged  with  an  author's  style 
as  by  no  other  means.     You  get  a  something  that  will 
not  come  by  picking  out  words  or  reading  selections. 
Memory  of  language  is  by  association.    If  you  have  but 
one  line  of  association  for  a  word,  that  word  will  be 


ENLARGEMENT  OF  THE  VOCABULARY  219 

difficult  to  recall,  and  will  not  fit  in  naturally  with 
familiar  words,  which  have  a  thousand  associations.  In 
your  conversational  style  that  word  will  sound  stiff  and 
artificial,  or,  as  we  say,  ' '  pedantic, ' '  and  in  your  written 
or  printed  style  it  will  stand  out  from  the  context,  as  if 
written  or  printed  in  red  ink.  Here  is  a  person,  for 
instance,  to  whom  the  word  reciprocal  is  not  familiar. 
He  encounters  it  once  in  some  book.  He  thinks  it  a 
nice  word.  He  resolves  to  use  it  at  the  first  opportunity. 
But  when  he  tries,  he  finds  it  a  little  hard  to  remember. 
When  it  does  come  to  mind  he  makes  a  grab  at  it,  lest 
it  get  away.  Then  he  is  not  quite  sure  how  to  fit  his 
other  words  to  it,  and,  like  the  new  cloth  in  the  old  gar- 
ment, "the  piece  that  is  put  in  agreeth  not  with  the 
old."  But  suppose  he  finds  that  word  repeatedly  in  his 
reading,  and  used  in  different  connections.  He  also 
comes  upon  reciprocate  and  reciprocity.  Many  associa- 
tions with  that  word  are  developed.  It  no  longer  seems 
strange  and  foreign.  He  has  come  to  think  it.  Then  it 
joins  insensibly  with  the  other  contents  of  his  thought, 
and  when  he  comes  to  use  it,  it  will  be  easy,  natural, — 
and  almost  certainly  appropriate.  It  will  make  natural 
connections  with  the  rest  of  his  speech,  because  it  has 
made  natural  connections  in  his  thought. 

By  reading  in  quantities  you  come  upon  words  of  the 
better  class  over  and  over  again,  and  in  ever  new  con- 
nections. Thus  you  invoke  the  instinctive  subconscious 
activities  of  the  mind,  which  will  often  do  more  than 
direct  intent.  If  a  plant  needs  development,  you  can  do 
but  little  by  pouring  water  over  its  leaves ;  you  can  not 
inject  water  or  carbon  into  them.  Your  best  way  is  to 
supply  water  at  the  roots,  place  the  plant  so  that  the 
due  amount  of  sunlight  shall  fall  upon  it,  and  wait  for 
the  untraceable  microscopic  activities  of  the  entire  or- 


220  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

ganism  to  renew  all  its  tissues  to  vigorous  life.  It  is  the 
water  absorbed  by  the  root  that  will  helpfully  reach  the 
leaf.  In  like  manner,  you  need  to  absorb  an  author's 
style,  so  that,  after  earnest  and  continuous  reading,  you 
will  find  yourself  involuntarily  constructing  phrases  or 
sentences  after  that  author 's  pattern ;  you  will  be  reach- 
ing out  for  his  words  as  means  of  expression  in  your  own 
new  thinking.  Then,  if  you  suddenly  come  upon  an 
extract  from  his  writings  without  his  name,  you  will  say, 
"That  reads  like  Emerson; — like  Carlyle; — like  Macau- 
lay; — like  Addison;"  as  the  case  may  be.  Then  you 
have  come  really  to  know  that  author.  His  style  has 
taken  actual  hold  upon  your  mind, — has  become  part  of 
the  content  of  your  thought.  By  that  time  you  have 
probably  had  enough  of  that  author  for  the  immediate 
present,  for  you  must  not  become  his  slave  nor  his  imi- 
tator. Take  up  then  some  different  author,  and  repeat 
the  process. 

4.  Read  rapidly,  to  secure  such  absorption.  We 
would  not  advise  you,  as  the  orthodox  treatises  do, 
to  "read  with  pencil  in  hand,"  and  make  notes  every 
few  minutes.  That  method,  if  it  could  be  enforced, 
would  exterminate  the  reading  of  sensational  novels. 
Read  freely,  just  as  if  you  were  listening  to  an  inter- 
esting speaker,  whom  you  could  not  interrupt  in  every 
other  sentence,  to  say,  "What  was  that  word  or  phrase? 
Wait  a  moment,  while  I  note  it  down."  Make  your 
book  a  companion,  and  let  it  talk  to  you.  Then,  at  some 
natural  break  in  your  reading,  try  to  recall  what  is  best 
worth  remembering,  turning  back  over  the  book,  if  neces- 
sary, to  fix  important  items.  Make  notes  then,  if  you 
like;  but  try  to  remember  as  much  as  possible  without 
the  notes.  If  the  book  is  your  own,  mark  freely  by  a 
perpendicular  stroke  alon<r  the  margin  any  passage  that 


ENLARGEMENT  OF  THE  VOCABULARY  221 

especially  interests  you.  Then  you  can  easily  pick  out 
those  passages  in  rereading.  Sometimes  write  in  a  few 
salient  words  in  the  margin  the  instant  impression  you 
gain  of  the  author's  words  or  thought,  favorable  or 
unfavorable.  You  will  find  those  among  the  most  valu- 
able notes  you  will  ever  make,  even  if  you  have  to  cor- 
rect them  on  revision,  because  they  will  be  alive,  full  of 
the  fresh  thought  of  that  moment,  which — with  the  same 
intensity  and  complexion — will  not  return.  But  read, 
and  read  eagerly  on. 

When  possible,  read  a  whole  book  or  a  whole  section 
' '  at  a  sitting. ' '  It  does  not  take  so  long  to  read  a  whole 
play  of  Shakespeare  as  to  go  to  the  theater  to  hear  it ;  for 
you  save  at  least  the  time  of  going  and  coming.  So 
the  play  becomes  more  than  if  read  piecemeal.  Hamlet's 
talk  with  the  grave-diggers  means  something  when  you 
are  full  of  interest  in  the  character  of  Hamlet,  and  have 
suddenly  contrasted  with  his  thoughts  the  ideas  of  the 
common  laborers.  The  very  best  way  to  read  any  poem 
of  moderate  length  is  to  read  it  from  start  to  finish 
without  a  break,  and  let  its  entire  impact  come  upon 
the  mind  like  a  minstrel 's  song.  In  the  case  of  a  longer 
poem,  read  one  division  in  that  way;  as,  for  instance, 
one  book  of  ' '  Paradise  Lost. ' '  Then,  after  some  interval, 
read  that  same  poem  or  portion  again  critically,  line  by 
line,  studying  the  finest  passages  word  by  word.  See 
where  the  power  dwells,  and — if  you  can — how  the  magic 
is  wrought.  Many  persons  would  find  the  English  Bible 
made  wholly  new  by  reading  it, — as  it  was  written, — in 
large  sections,  regardless  of  chapters,  as  Franklin  is 
said  to  have  copied  out  the  book  of  Ruth  and  read  it  as 
an  Oriental  tale  in  the  pre-revolutionary  days  in  Paris,, 
to  a  club  of  infidel  philosophers  and  literary  men,  who 
greatly  admired  his  discovery.  It  is  the  saturating  of 


222  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

the  mind  with  a  book  that  makes  its  style  your  own 
possession. 

Only  one  form  of  interruption  in  such  reading  is  to 
be  recommended.  You  come  to  some  exceptionally  beau- 
tiful or  noble  passage  in  poem,  oration,  essay,  or  history ; 
— pause  and  learn  those  lines  or  that  sentence  by  heart. 
That  will  be  easy,  because  their  impression  is  then  fresh 
and  strong  upon  you.  That  will  not  check  the  eagerness 
of  your  reading.  You  will  be  nearer  to  your  author  by 
having  made  something  of  his  your  very  own,  and  you 
will  hurry  on  with  tense  interest  to  find  new  gems  along 
the  same  inviting  path.  The  portions  thus  learned  will 
•come  back  to  you  at  many  unexpected  times,  as  a  mental 
delight,  or  as  a  help  in  expressing  or  emphasizing  your 
own  thought  as  you  speak  or  write.  You  are  richer  for 
those  stored-up  treasures. 

By  such  abundant  and  continuous  reading  you  will 
develop  the  instinct  of  language.  In  this  capacity  as  a 
natural  endowment  persons  greatly  differ,  but  in  all  it 
is  capable  of  indefinite  increase.  One  who  possesses  the 
greatest  natural  facility  has  still  to  seek  perfection,  if 
only  in  the  restraining  and  pruning  of  his  own  exuber- 
ance. Another,  of  the  strongly  executive  type,  who  finds 
it  easier  to  do  the  hardest  thing  than  to  say  the  easiest, 
needs,  nevertheless,  to  be  capable  of  something  more 
than  a  grunt  of  agreement  or  a  growl  of  dissent.  The 
mind  of  either  type  needs  to  cultivate  a  vocabulary 
suited  to  the  possessor's  life-purpose.  For  this  either 
will  profit  by  abundant  reading. 

4.  Read  by  snatches.  Every  truth  has  a  converse 
that  is  equally  true.  When  life's  demands  do  not  permit 
us  to  do  all  that  is  desirable,  we  may  checkmate  neces- 
sity by  doing  what  we  can.  There  are  odd  half-hours 
that,  if  utilized,  will  accumulate,  like  the  compound 


ENLARGEMENT  OF  THE  VOCABULARY  223 

interest  of  a  savings-bank  into  a  surprising  total.  Keep 
some  first-class  book  at  hand — literally,  "at  hand"- 
where  it  can  be  picked  up  and  read  in  odd  minutes  of 
waiting  or  resting.  Much  of  our  best  literature  is  ex- 
actly adapted  to  be  so  read,  as  the  shorter  poems  of 
Wordsworth,  Tennyson,  Moore,  Hood,  Bryant,  or  Whit- 
tier.  Any  one  of  Bacon's  "Essays"  may  be  so  read. 
You  would  know  Addison?  His  papers  in  the  "Spec- 
tator" were  especially  designed  "to  be  read  at  all 
breakfast-tables."  Keep  a  volume  of  the  "Spectator" 
within  easy  reach,  and  in  any  available  half-hour  read 
any  paper  in  the  volume  signed  by  one  letter  of  the 
name  CLIO.  Those  are  Addison 's.  So  day  by  day  you 
will  come  into  touch  with  the  thought  and  style  of  one 
of  the  great  masters  of  English  literature.  Many  books 
which  look  quite  formidable  are  easily  read  a  chapter 
at  a  time. 

5.  Read  what  you  like.  There  was  a  time  when  easy 
and  happy  learning  was  suspected  of  shallowness.  The 
ideal  of  education  was  discipline,  and  if  learning  came 
too  easily,  something  must  be  done  to  make  it  grind.  If 
the  student  was  in  danger  of  thoroughly  enjoying  Cicero, 
he  must  be  put  upon  a  course  of  Zumpt's  grammar, 
which  would  have  been  too  much  for  Cicero  himself.  It 
is  pitiful  to  see  how  the  triumphant  eagerness  with 
which  the  little  ones  rush  along  the  early  grades,  happy 
in  being  wiser  every  day,  often  changes  to  weariness  and 
dread  as  they  reach  the  grammar  and  high  schools.  It 
has  been,  even  in  recent  years,  a  custom,  perhaps  not 
yet  wholly  extinct  in  certain  schools,  to  require  the 
pupil  to  put  in  a  stipulated  amount  of  "home  work," — 
often  two  hours  upon  a  certain  lesson,  and  to  report 
the  same  next  day.  One  business  man  of  the  author's 
acquaintance  received  from  a  principal  a  letter  asking, 


224  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

' '  How  much  time  did  your  daughter  spend  yesterday  on 
(certain  specified)  lessons. "  To  which  he  replied :  "If 
my  daughter  knows  her  lessons,  there  is  no  further 
inquiry  to  be  made.  If  she  does  not,  report  to  me,  and 
I  will  see  that  she  learns  them.  She  is  not  to  be  worried 
about  any  stipulated  time  of  study." 

It  is  fairly  amusing  to  note  in  biographies  of  literary 
men  how  often  the  statement  is  made  in  some  form  that 
"at  the  university  he  did  not  greatly  distinguish  him- 
self in  studies," — or  "he  was  considered  remiss  in 
study," — but  "he  did  a  great  amount  of  desultory  read- 
ing." This  "desultory  reading"  proved  to  be  the  best 
thing  for  him,  as  his  intellectual  instinct  led  him  off 
the  beaten  track.  This  is  no  plea  for  idleness,  negli- 
gence and  intellectual  vagrancy.  There  have  been  great 
men  who  were  good  scholars,  even  according  to  the 
university  standard.  But  we  would  have  the  books  the 
playthings  or  tools  of  the  student, — he  always  more 
than  they.  We  would  give  scope  to  the  natural  bent 
of  the  individual  mind,  as  a  divine  revelation  of  what 
that  individual  was  created  to  do.  "We  would  maintain 
that  true  scholarship  is  compatible  with  freedom  and 
delight  in  reading  the  books  that  impart  it.  Thus  Mrs. 
Browning  tells  of  her  early  unguided  studies : 

(I)  read  my  books 

Without  considering  whether  they  were  fit 
To  3o  me  good.  Mark  there.  We  get  no  good 
By  being  ungenerous,  even  to  a  book, 
And  calculating  profits  ...  so  much  help 
By  so  much  reading.  It  is  rather  when 
We  gloriously  forget  ourselves  and  plunge 
Soul-forward,  headlong,  into  a  book's  profound, 
Impassioned  for  its  beauty  and  salt  of  truth — 
'Tis  then  we  get  the  right  good  from  a  book.* 


•"Aurora  Leigh,"  Bk.  1,  St.  36. 


ENLARGEMENT  OF  THE  VOCABULARY  225 

6.  Read  what  you  do  not  like.  Again  a  converse 
proposition  as  true  as  its  opposite.  By  following  one's 
likings  limitlessly  there  is  danger  of  developing  mental 
one-sidedness,  like  the  bodily  deformity  of  one  who  car- 
ries some  weight  always  in  the  right  or  always  in  the 
left  hand.  No  good  thing  in  this  world  is  ever  accom- 
plished by  doing  only  what  one  likes  to  do.  By  reading 
only  on  that  principle,  one  is  in  danger  of  developing 
overmuch  some  mental  traits  already  too  strong.  The 
mind  should  have  room  for  freedom  and  delight,  but  it 
must  learn  also  to  act  by  mere  resolve  and  determina- 
tion. A  well-disciplined  mind  can  do  some  work, — at 
times  some  of  its  best  work — under  compulsion.  When 
that  is  done,  the  freedom  will  be  all  the  more  free,  and 
the  delight  more  delightful.  No  man  is  good  for  any- 
thing who  can  not  say  on  occasion,  ' '  This  must  be  done ; 
it  can  be,  and  it  shall  be,  and  I  am  the  one  to  do  it,— 
liking  or  not  liking, — right  now." 

At  times  the  best  reason  for  taking  up  some  line  of 
study  or  reading  is  that  one  does  not  like  it.  That 
shows  a  mental  deficiency  which  it  is  important  to  cor- 
rect. Here  is  a  student  who  loves  argument  and  soaring 
raptures  of  imagination,  but  hates  mathematics,  because 
that  seems  to  him  but  dry  bones  of  cabalistic  signs  and 
profitless  (ynisrmas.  He  forces  himself  to  master  it  in 
order  to  hold  a  respectable  place  in  college;  and  sud- 
denly he  finds  that  he  can  handle  argument  as  never 
before,  because  he  knows  now  what  Lincoln  studied 
geometry  in  order  to  learn,  "what  is  meant  by  demon- 
stration." At  the  same  time  he  is  less  in  danger  of 
wild  flights  of  fancy  and  of  mixed  metaphor,  because 
he  has  learned  the  mighty  laws  of  equality  and  propor- 
tion, and  that,  through  all  theories  and  rhapsodies,  fixed 


226  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

facts  and  universal  laws  will  come  back  with  their 
resistless  demands. 

Here  is  another  who  "does  not  like  poetry."  He  is 
probably  one  of  the  many  who  have  never  learned  how 
to  read  poetry.  The  man  of  the  literal  and  pragmatic 
type  of  mind  takes  up  Coleridge's  "Ancient  Mariner," 
and  says,  "Oh,  come  now!  All  that  never  could  have 
happened.  The  shooting  of  that  bird  could  not  possibly 
have  had  any  effect  on  the  direction  of  the  winds,  which 
are  determined  by  meteorological  laws,  and  can  be 
mapped  out  in  advance.  This  thing  is  contrary  to  the 
known  facts." 

But  he  is  overlooking  one  known  fact,  viz. :  that  per- 
sons of  admirable  intellect  have  found  power  in  that 
poem.  Power  of  some  kind  must  be  there,  and  it  would 
be  a  rational  scientific  process  to  inquire  what  that 
power  is.  It  is  even  possible  that  there  may  be  a  defi- 
ciency in  the  objector's  own  mind  which  it  would  be 
highly  desirable  to  supply.  Suppose  he  should  be  able 
to  open  up  some  hitherto  closed  tracts  of  mental  activity. 
Let  him  say,  "People  of  good  minds  have  enjoyed  this, 
and  I  am  going  to  learn  what  they  have  found  there." 
Get  the  poet's  view  of  the  wide,  marvelous,  mysterious 
sea,  where  unimagined  wonders  meet  the  voyager  by  day 
and  night.  Easiest  of  all  explanations  to  primitive  man 
was  that  of  magic.  So  sailors  in  ancient  days  were 
always  superstitious.  There  were  mermen  and  mer- 
maids, griffins  and  dragons  and  giants  in  the  sea  or  on 
its  shores;  there  were  sirens  that  lured  to  dangerous 
rocks ;  there  was  Calypso 's  enchanted  isle  and  the  lotus- 
eater 's  dreamy  land;  it  was  not  rocks  that  threatened 
off  the  coast  of  Italy,  but  Scylla  and  Charybdis  roaring 
from  their  ocean  caves.  The  sea  was  much  more  inter- 
esting then.  We  will  be  for  the  moment  companions  of 


ENLARGEMENT  OF  THE  VOCABULARY  227 

those  "ancient  mariners."  We  will  let  ourselves  go, 
under  the  poet's  spell,  and,  as  the  children  say,  "make 
believe"  that  it  is  all  true.  Then  we  can  be  thrilled 
by  the  wonderful  story,  and  admire  its  exquisite  diction. 
So  the  poet  transports  us  out  of  ourselves,  and  our  men- 
tal world  is  wider  in  range  and  richer  by  the  new 
images  with  which  he  has  peopled  it.  The  first  condition 
for  reading  poetry  is  to  give  ourselves  up  to  its  illusion. 
Then  we  can  feel  its  charm.  Poetry  is  one  of  the  best 
forms  of  reading,  even  in  preparation  for  speaking  or 
writing  prose.  For  poetry  awakens  the  imaginative 
power  of  the  mind,  the  want  of  which  makes  much  sub- 
stantial prose  and  much  well-intended  public  speaking 
so  deadly  dry  and  barren. 

As  regards  the  vocabulary,  it  is  to  be  remembered 
that  any  true  poet  is  a  master  of  words.  He  must  be. 
The  demands  of  meter  or  rime,  or  both,  compel  him  to 
reject  many  a  word  that  would  be  adequate  in  prose. 
He  must  find  by  careful  search  some  word  that  will 
express  his  meaning  and  still  fit  his  verse,  or  else  he 
must  reconstruct  the  verse.  Hence  he  lives  in  an  atmos- 
phere of  word-study,  and  as  you  read  his  lines  you  will 
find  yourself  amid  choice  words,  selected  for  the  most 
part  with  fine  taste  and  wise  discrimination. 

Another  reader  finds  history  dreary,  as  he  has 
studied  it  in  school.  But  every  one  likes  a  story.  Sup- 
pose we  read  to  find  the  "stories"  that  are  in  history. 
There  we  have  a  supply  that  can  never  run  out,  stranger, 
grander,  and  often  more  beautiful  than  fiction.  Instead 
of  some  one's  imagination  of  what  an  imaginary  char- 
acter might  have  done  in  imaginary  situations,  we  have 
what  was  actually  done  in  the  living  world  by  people  as 
real  as  ourselves,  and  they  the  chiefs  of  the  nations  and 
the  ages;  for  only  the  deeds  of  such  have  come  down 


228  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

through  time, — except  as  some  inferior  characters  gain 
a  factitious  immortality  by  association  with  the  great. 

Bead  history  by  connected  interest — of  period  with 
period,  of  nation  with  nation,  or  of  the  historic  story 
with  any  topic  in  which  for  the  moment  you  are  inter- 
ested. If,  for  instance,  you  are  engaged  upon  Eliza- 
bethan literature,  read  Froude's  account  of  the  victory 
of  the  little  English  fleet  over  the  dread  Spanish  Ar- 
mada ; — a  victory  which  energized  the  English  nation  as 
Marathon  and  Salamis  vivified  and  exalted  the  Greeks. 
In  thus  reading  for  the  story  you  do  not  need  greatly 
to  worry  about  dates  and  statistics.  It  is  well  to  pick 
up  what  one  can  in  passing.  It  is  easy  to  remember,  for 
instance,  that  Charles  V  was  born  in  1500,  so  that  each 
year  of  his  life  corresponds  to  a  year  of  the  same  num- 
ber in  the  century;  hence,  when  he  presided  in  1521  at 
the  Diet  of  Worms,  the  young  emperor  was  just  twenty- 
one  years  old.  Again,  one  may  easily  remember  that 
Ferdinand  and  Isabella  took  the  Moorish  capital  of 
Granada  in  1492,  the  very  year  in  which  Columbus  dis- 
covered America. 

This  method  of  reading,  you  will  perceive,  is  wholly 
different  from  reading  for  mastery  of  historical  facts, 
when  it  may  be  necessary  to  toil  through  some  fearfully 
dry  books.  But  many  of  the  great  historians,  as  Gib- 
bon, Hume,  Macaulay,  Motley,  Prescott,  Carlyle,  Froude, 
and  numerous  others,  have  been  masters  of  a  noble 
English  style.  In  reading  for  the  style  you  gather  a 
great  store  of  facts  and  incidents,  which  are  admirable 
illustrative  material,  while  you  are  at  the  same  time 
absorbing  the  vocabulary  and  modes  of  expression  of 
these  great  masters.  This  may  be  very  heterodox  from 
the  professorial  point  of  view,  but  it  is  practicable,  en- 
tertaining, delightful. 


ENLARGEMENT  OF  THE  VOCABULARY  229 

7.  Diversify  your  reading.  By  no  means  confine 
yourself  to  one  subject, — still  less  to  one  author.  There 
is  a  great  snare  in  the  "sets"  of  single  authors,  ele- 
gantly printed  and  bound,  and  even  if  moderate  in 
price,  yet  costing  enough  to  keep  an  ordinary  pur- 
chaser from  buying  many  other  books.  It  is  not  desir- 
able to  read  and  reread  all  of  Scott,  or  all  of  Dickens, 
admirable  as  many  of  their  works  are.  One  who  does 
this  becomes  a  slave  of  one  author,  and  is  sure  to  become 
also  an  imitator,  with  the  result  that  befalls  all  imitators, 
of  copying  defects  and  falling  short  of  excellencies.  In 
reading  for  command  of  words,  choose  authors  of  the 
most  different  and  divergent  styles.  Not  only  do  not 
limit  yourself  to  one  author,  but  not  to  one  period  or 
one  school  of  literary  art.  Vary  the  Victorian  period 
with  the  Elizabethan,  fiction  with  history,  solid  prose 
with  dashes  into  poetry  for  refreshment  and  inspiration, 
the  lofty,  Latinized  style  of  Johnson  with  the  simple, 
easy,  rippling  sentences  of  Addison,  the  fervor  of  Byron 
with  the  contemplative  quiet  of  Wordsworth,  etc.  Thus 
you  will  gain  an  all-round  literary  development,  that 
will  give  you  a  store  of  varied  words  suited  to  all  the 
changing  demands  of  literary  expression,  and  of  com- 
mon speech. 

The  study  of  language  we  may  here  treat  incidentally 
under  the  general  head  of  Reading.  Important  as  word- 
study  is  in  itself,  it  is  of  limited  utility  in  the  formation 
of  a  good  working  vocabulary.  Very  little  for  this  pur- 
pose is  gained  by  distillation  and  dissection  of  words. 
If  any  one  wishes  a  dry,  heavy,  dreary,  wooden,  and 
lumbering  style,  let  him  read  the  books  of  experts  on 
etymology.  The  reason  is  that  their  view  of  language 
has  become  a  view  of  the  ultimate  components  of  lan- 
guage. They  have  lost  range  and  perspective.  Their 


230  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

linguistic  study  is  like  landscape-gardening  with  a 
microscope.  Words  have  ceased  to  be  alive  for  them, 
and  are  no  more  fit  to  be  introduced  to  an  audience  than 
an  articulated  skeleton  from  an  anatomical  museum.  It 
is  the  word  as  read  or  heard,  in  some  connection  with 
other  words,  and  in  vital  touch  with  human  thoughts 
and  human  interests,  that  is  valuable  to  the  orator  or 
the  author  when  he  would  address  his  fellow  men. 

The  study  of  at  least  one  foreign  language  will  help 
the  student  to  mastery  of  his  own,  because  in  trans- 
lating he  is  constantly  compelled  to  select  English  words 
to  match  the  foreign  equivalent,  and  often  the  choice 
requires  much  study  and  care.  For  similar  reasons  a 
good  book  of  differentiated  synonyms  is  of  advantage, 
because  the  words  it  discusses  are  exhibited  in  action  in 
connection  with  other  words,  and  the  student  is  com- 
pelled to  make  each  time  an  independent  choice  for  the 
particular  occasion  and  context  in  which  he  would  use 
any  single  word.  Etymology  has  a  very  practical  value. 
It  is  pitiable  that  many  persons  never  learn  to  distin- 
guish between  principal  and  principle,  never  see  any 
reason  why  they  should  not  write  seperate  for  separate, 
and  even  confuse  words  so  unlike  as  quite  and  quiet. 
Etymology  and  word-study  are  of  exceeding  use  in  pre- 
venting such  lapses,  and  are  to  be  recommended  if 
restricted  to  a  limited  amount  of  the  student's  time,  not 
encroaching  upon  more  important  study.  It  must  never 
be  forgotten  that  the  word  as  used  in  connection  with 
other  words  for  expression  of  thought  is  our  prime  con- 
cern in  the  acquirement  of  a  vocabulary.  The  dictionary 
does  not  tend  to  repress  constructive  thought,  because  it 
is  used  for  words  in  action  and  expressly  to  determine 
their  meaning  in  connection  with  other  words.  You 
hear  or  read  a  word  you  do  not  know,  look  it  up  in  the 


ENLARGEMENT  OF  THE  VOCABULARY  231 

dictionary,  and  go  readily  on.  Instead  of  being  burdened 
with  a  task,  you  are  freed  from  an  impediment. 

II.     HEARING 

The  most  direct  of  all  ways  of  learning  language  is 
by  the  ear.  So  the  children  of  all  races  learn  their 
mother-tongue.  They  have  virtually  learned  a  language 
before  they  are  able  to  read  or  write.  In  families  where 
correct  and  excellent  English  is  habitually  spoken,  the 
children  commonly  grow  up  with  a  good  command  of 
language.  Let  us  utilize  intelligently  and  with  set  pur- 
pose this  great  power  for  the  enlargement  and  improve- 
ment of  our  vocabulary.  Opportunity  for  such  utiliza- 
tion presents  itself  under  two  chief  forms: 

1.  Conversation. — Take  every  possible  occasion  to 
converse  with  the  best  educated  and  most  cultured  per- 
sons it  may  be  your  privilege  to  meet.  Seek  to  create 
such  opportunities  by  obtaining  introductions  and  form- 
ing friendships.  This  involves  intelligent  choice.  The 
college-student,  for  instance,  may  have  the  choice  be- 
tween passing  his  time  with  some  thoroughly  ' '  good  fel- 
low", who  is  an  agreeable  companion,  but  whose  talk  is 
chiefly  on  sports  and  games,  and  in  college  slang,  or  of 
spending  some  of  the  same  hours  with  a  man  who  is 
earnest  in  study,  and  whose  speech  bears  the  stamp  of 
the  culture  he  is  acquiring.  Without  making  himself  a 
recluse,  he  will  do  best  for  his  own  training  by  giving 
the  preference  to  the  better  form  of  companionship ;  and 
where  two  or  more  of  such  type  meet,  each  reaches  a 
higher  level  by  reason  of  tho  stimulus — or  even  the 
rivalry, — of  the  other  or  others.  In  every  walk  of  life 
the  intelligent  seeker  after  improvement  will  find  some 
one  whose  society  will  bring  out  the  best  that  is  in  him. 
But  conversation  must  be  mutual.  It  is  interchange  of 


232  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

thoughts  and  opinions.  For  true  conversation  one  must 
develop  the  admirable  quality  of  being  a  good  listener. 
By  the  power  of  attending  to  the  words  and  thoughts 
of  another,  even  if  he  does  not  always  agree  with  him 
in  opinion, — sometimes  most  when  he  disagrees, — one 
is  developing  himself,  and  is  stirred  to  his  own  best  in 
response.  Friendship  is  not  full  and  clear  till  there  is 
an  understood  freedom  of  kindly  mutual  criticism.  One 
must  be  able  to  ask,  ' '  Is  that  the  correct  meaning,  or  the 
correct  use,  of  that  word  ? ' '  and  both  submit  the  decision 
to  the  arbitrament  of  the  dictionary  or  of  some  standard 
author.  Such  acquaintance  and  friendship  are  among 
the  best  means  of  education,  the  most  vivid,  inspiring, 
and  practical. 

It  goes  without  saying  that  one  who  would  have  a 
wide  influence  in  the  world  of  living  men  must  be  at 
home  in  the  language  of  common  life.  But  that  is 
easily  acquired  by  one  who  has  a  healthful  interest  in 
human  affairs.  Granting  such  interest,  he  will  find  that, 
even  when  using  the  language  of  common  life,  he  will 
be  not  less,  but  more  influential  because  he  knows  some- 
thing better.  One  will  best  reach  an  ordinary  crowd  by 
a  style  a  little,  though  not  too  much,  above  their  own.  It 
is  a  natural  and  a  rational  demand  of  the  human  mind 
that  a  teacher  shall  know  more  than  those  he  undertakes 
to  teach.  Moreover,  all  intelligent  people  enjoy  mental 
outlook  and  uplift.  Hence  the  style  most  effective  with 
great  masses  of  men  is  that  which  uses  homely  and  com- 
mon words,  but  uses  always  the  best  and  choicest  of 
them ;  and  also  adds  some  words  of  higher  grade,  which 
they  understand,  but  would  not  themselves  employ  in 
common  speech.  Such  a  speaker  stands  as  a  prince 
among  the  throng. 

2.    Public  Addresses. — Let  one  who  would  acquire  a 


ENLARGEMENT  OF  THE  VOCABULARY  233 

good  vocabulary  take  every  opportunity  of  listening  to 
really  able  speakers  in  the  pulpit  or  on  the  platform. 
The  power  of  taking  brief  notes  will  be  helpful,  but, 
even  without  that,  he  will  be  involuntarily  making  swift 
mental  note  of  felicitous  or  powerful  phrases  or  sen- 
tences, and  the  process  of  silent  absorption  will  be  con- 
tinuously going  on.  Every  really  able  public  speaker 
is  an  instructor  in  language,  and  it  is  no  impeachment 
of  his  main  purpose  to  avail  ourselves  of  the  help  he 
has  so  to  give. 

III.     DOING 

This  involves  the  habitual  compelling  of  oneself  to 
expression,  and  to  the  best  expression.  You  know  that 
moralists  tell  us  of  a  factitious  morality,  which  knows 
all  the  good  maxims,  and  delights  in  the  sentimental 
experience  of  moral  emotions,  as  the  Russian  countess 
in  a  January  night  in  Petrograd  is  said  to  have 
luxuriated  in  pity  and  tears  for  the  sufferings  of  the 
heroine  on  the  stage,  while  her  coachman,  holding  her 
horses  and  carriage  outside,  actually  froze  to  death  upon 
the  box.  It  is  an  accepted  principle  of  morals  now,  that 
the  more  one  experiences  lofty  or  tender  emotions  with- 
out acting  on  them,  the  more  unfitted  the  character 
becomes  for  active  and  actual  virtues. 

In  the  realm  of  athletics  we  have  a  parallel  result,  in 
the  case  of  the  young  fellows  who  will  neglect  every 
great  thing  in  life  to  watch  how  other  men  play  base- 
ball. They  know  just  how  to  applaud  every  good  hit 
and  every  good  catch,  and  to  roar  condemnation  for 
every  failure,  but  would  be  helplessly  scared  if  called  to 
the  bat  or  into  the  pitcher 's  or  catcher 's  place ;  and  those 
who  depended  on  their  supposed  skill  would  be  utterly 
dismayed.  Proficiency  there  comes  only  from  doing. 


234  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

While  it  is  true  that  in  good  reading  one  insensibly 
absorbs  a  certain  amount  of  excellent  material,  and 
forms  certain  high  standards  of  taste,  yet  the  occasions 
and  connections  in  which  he  would  himself  be  called  on 
to  use  words  in  speech  or  writing  are  so  different  from 
those  in  which  his  authors  employed  them,  that  unless 
he  has  the  actual  practise  in  expression,  he  is  almost 
sure  to  fall  back  upon  the  words  and  phrases  which  he 
uses  most  in  common  utterance.  In  order  worthily  to 
utilize  the  stores  acquired  by  reading  and  study,  one 
must  have  the  practical  training  of  the  athlete  or  soldier 
of  language  in  the  actual  use  of  words  and  choice  of 
phrase,  to  express  his  own  ideas. 

Composition. — As  a  method  of  acquiring  such  facility, 
no  better  thing  can  be  suggested  to  the  beginner  than 
the  timeworn  practise  of  what  is  called  "composition," 
which  is  something  different  from  writing  for  a  purpose. 
You  are  writing  to  a  friend  with  the  knowledge  that  the 
mail  closes  all  too  soon.  You  want  to  get  the  essential 
things  said,  somehow,  and  down  they  go  in  the  words 
that  come  first.  You  can  not  stop  to  pick  and  choose 
among  synonyms.  Or  you  are  writing  "copy"  for  a 
newspaper,  with  the  office-boy  waiting  behind  you,  and 
the  hum  of  the  presses  in  your  ears.  What  you  have  to 
say  must  be  said  somehow,  anyhow,  as  you  then  can.  A 
young  reporter  recently  told  me  that  in  writing  up  his 
matter,  it  was  a  constant  experience  to  have  the  office- 
boy  pick  up  the  typewritten  sheet  the  moment  he  drew 
it  from  the  machine,  so  that  he  could  not  look  back  to 
verify  the  last  word  on  the  finished  page,  and  to  know 
what  should  be  the  first  word  on  the  page  next  to  be 
begun.  In  such  work  any  nice  choice  of  language  is 
impossible. 

Those  who  rely  for  practise  only  on  writing  for  a  pur- 


ENLARGEMENT  OF  THE  VOCABULARY  235 

pose  always  end  with  perpetuating  their  own  faults,  and 
the  more  they  write  in  this  way,  the  more  inveterate 
those  faults  become.  To  form  a  really  good  style,  there 
must  be  some  writing  merely  for  practise  in  expression, 
and  with  a  view  to  self-criticism,  or — if  possible — for 
criticism  by  some  other  person.  Perhaps  no  better 
method  could  be  suggested  for  this  purpose  than  that 
which  the  Boston  boy,  Benjamin  Franklin,  with  his 
native  shrewdness,  devised  for  himself,  as  related  in  his 
autobiography.  He  writes: 

"About  this  time  [when  he  was  thirteen  years  old]  I  met 
with  an  odd  volume  of  the  'Spectator.'  It  was  the  third.  I 
had  never  before  seen  any  of  them.  I  bought  it,  read  it  over 
and  over,  and  was  much  delighted  with  it.  I  thought  the 
writing  excellent,  and  wished,  if  possible,  to  imitate  it.  With 
this  view  I  took  some  of  the  papers,  and — making  short  hints 
of  the  sentiments  in  each  sentence,  laid  them  by  a  few  days, 
and  then,  without  looking  at  the  book,  tried  to  complete  the 
paper  again,  by  expressing  each  hinted  sentiment  at  length, 
and  as  fully  as  it  bad  been  expressed  before,  in  any  suitable 
words  that  should  come  to  hand.  Then  I  compared  my 
'Spectator'  with  the  original,  discovered  some  of  my  faults, 
and  corrected  them.  .  .  . 

"I  also  sometimes  jumbled  my  collection  of  hints  into  con- 
fusion, and  after  some  weeks  endeavored  to  reduce  them  into 
the  best  order  before  I  began  to  form  the  full  sentences,  and 
to  complete  the  paper.  This  was  to  teach  me  method  in  the 
arrangement  of  thought.  By  comparing  my  work  afterwards 
with  the  original,  I  discovered  many  faults  and  amended 
them:  but  I  sometimes  took  the  pleasure  of  fancying  that, 
in  certain  particulars  of  small  importance,  I  had  been  lucky 
enough  to  improve  the  method  or  the  language,  and  this 
encouraged  me  to  think  I  might  possibly  in  time  come  to  be 
a  tolerable  English  writer,  of  which  I  wae  extremely  ambi- 
tious." 

It  would  be  well  to  try  Franklin's  method,  not  merely 
upon  the  incomparable  ' '  Spectator, ' '  but  upon  any  good 


236  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

writers  or  speakers  of  our  own  day — any  really  valuable 
book  one  is  interested  in  reading,  rewriting  portions,  and 
after  a  certain  lapse  of  time  comparing  them  with  the 
originals,  and  seeing  wherein  one's  own  style  may  be  im- 
proved by  the  example  of  an  acknowledged  master  of 
expression. 

Such  practise  is  for  the  apprentice  period.  And 
apprenticeship  is  essential.  There  would  be  fewer  broken 
hearts,  if  young  authors  would  remember  that  they  have 
their  trade  to  learn, — their  spurs  to  win.  But  in  active 
life  one  must  use  his  own  ' '  writing  for  a  purpose "  as  a 
means  of  self-criticism.  For  this,  Franklin's  device  of 
laying  aside  the  written  material  before  criticism  is  of 
very  great  importance.  After  a  certain  lapse  of  time 
you  can  read  your  own  manuscript  as  if  it  were  an- 
other's. 

If  you  are  writing  for  publication,  or  as  a  sketch  for 
public  speaking,  or  as  a  report  for  some  special  occasion, 
finish  in  advance  of  the  time  for  direct  use,  if  possible. 
Then,  take  that  manuscript  after  some  hours  or  days, 
and  read  it  as  if  someone  else  had  written  it — go  over 
it  with  dauntless  self-criticism,  and  see  where  any  change 
of  phrase  may  make  it  more  clear,  more  elegant,  more 
vigorous,  or  in  any  other  way  more  worthy  of  the  pur- 
pose for  which  it  is  designed.  Thus  Stevenson  is  said  to 
have  rewritten  a  single  chapter  seven  times  before  send- 
ing it  to  the  printer. 

There  is,  however,  one  important  caution  here, 
namely:  Stop  short  of  perfection.  You  say,  "That  is 
easy;  or,  rather,  it  is  inevitable."  Yes,  but  it  is  not 
easy  that  you  should  make  up  your  mind  to  it,  which  is 
the  thing  that  must  be  done.  There  have  been  gifted 
authors  whose  early  work  has  been  greedily  read,  but 
as  they  went  on  in  life  they  became  possessed  of  the 


ENLARGEMENT  OF  THE  VOCABULARY  23? 

demon  of  perfection.  Every  manuscript  was  interlined 
till  scarcely  legible,  every  galley-proof  and  page-proof 
cut  up  to  the  despair  of  compositors,  and  the  work  was 
never  done  till  actually  on  the  press, — probably  to  be 
corrected  in  the  next  edition.  Their  later  work  was 
praised  by  the  critics,  who  were  the  only  persons  to 
read  it. 

When  the  style  becomes  the  main  thing  in  the  writer 's 
conception  of  his  work,  it  hinders  his  pace,  so  that  the 
thought  lags  and  petrifies.  Sometimes  the  style  obscures 
to  him  the  fact  that  the  thing  so  beautifully  said  is  not 
true,  or,  if  true,  was  not  worth  saying.  When  he  has 
put  together  a  collection  of  euphonious  and  elegant 
words,  he  really  supposes  he  must  have  said  something. 
A  young  student  went  to  hear  a  famous  preacher  in  a 
fashionable  church,  and  told  his  father  on  his  return 
that  he  had  heard  a  wonderful  sermon.  "I  am  glad," 
said  the  father.  "What  was  it  about?"  Then  the  boy 
was  dismayed  to  find  that  he  did  not  know.  No  idea 
of  the  subject,  instruction,  or  exhortation  remained  in 
his  mind: — nothing  but  the  remembered  music  of  ex- 
quisite words. 

The  only  use  of  a  full  and  rich  vocabulary  is  to  express 
thought.  Whenever  the  style  gets  in  the  way  of  the 
thought,  smash  the  style.  The  thought  is  that  for  which 
we  write.  Will  an  exquisite  style  best  express  it  ?  Then 
attain  that  if  you  can.  But  if  the  exquisite  style  is  not 
the  clearest  and  fittest,  or  if  you  can  not  attain  it,  then 
give  us  a  style  less  exquisite,  so  that  the  thought  be 
expressed. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  IMPOVERISHMENT  OF  THE 
VOCABULARY.  CANT,  SLANG,  ETC. 

The  touch  of  decay  is  upon  all  things  earthly.  Frost, 
rain,  and  wind  are  casting  down  the  mountains,  and 
the  rivers  are  washing  the  rock-dust  far  out  into  the 
sea.  The  ocean-waves  beat  down  the  cliffs  that  frown 
so  massively  above  them.  The  Pyramids,  stripped  of 
the  casing  of  hewn  stone  that  once  covered  them,  are 
now  but  rude,  though  mighty  towers  in  the  lonely  desert. 
The  Parthenon,  still  crowning  the  height  of  Athens, 
was  desolated  long  ago,  and  though  still  beautiful,  is 
beautiful  only  in  ruin.  The  stately  monuments  of  im- 
perial Rome  are  dismantled  from  the  top  and  dust- 
embedded  from  the  base. 

Language  shares  the  same  tendency  to  decay.  The 
noble  Hebrew  has  become  the  degenerate  Yiddish,  as 
spoken  in  the  Jewish  quarters  of  our  cities.  The  clas- 
sic language  of  ancient  Greece  has  a  far  inferior  coun- 
terpart in  the  modern  Greek.  The  Latin  of  conquering 
Rome,  the  language  of  war  and  of  jurisprudence,  of 
history  and  of  poetry,  of  philosophy  and  of  religion, 
has  successors  in  some  ways  inferior  in  the  Italian, 
French,  and  Spanish.  The  tendencies  to  the  breaking 
down  and  the  pulling  down  of  our  own  noble  language 
are  as  incessant  as  the  pressure  of  the  ocean  and  the 
beating  of  the  surge  upon  a  ship  at  sea.  Our  schools 
and  colleges  have  constantly  to  correct  this  tendency, 
which,  but  for  them,  would  be  overmastering. 

238 


IMPOVERISHMENT  OF  THE  VOCABULARY   239 

Now,  any  highly  perfected  language  is  a  wondrous 
development  of  human  power.  It  is  the  growth  of  cen- 
turies. It  bears  embedded  in  it  the  history  of  genera- 
tions that  have  lived  and  died.  It  has  been  shaped  by 
the  toils  of  peace,  the  fatigues,  dangers,  victories,  and 
disasters  of  war;  by  the  loves  and  joys  of  home;  by  the 
laments  of  earth's  myriad  tragedies  and  sorrows;  by 
the  explorations  of  travel,  the  discoveries  of  science, 
and  the  patient  unfolding,  pruning,  and  systematizing 
of  scholarship. 

To  master  such  a  means  of  expression,  so  as  to  bring 
into  ready  and  effective  use  all  its  varied  power,  is  a 
mental  achievement.  To  learn  a  language  involves 
memory, — to  acquire  and  store  in  labeled  pigeon-holes 
of  the  brain  thousands  of  words,  that  shall  come  forth 
readily  on  call;  it  involves  discrimination  and  judg- 
ment— to  see  that  words  differ,  and -where  and  how  they 
differ,  making  each  the  fittest  for  some  special  use,  and 
for  that  very  reason  most  unfit  for  some  other  special 
use:  it  involves  imagination,  to  catch  the  poetry  that  is 
in  words — the  pictorial  power  that  gives  vividness  to 
speech  or  writing;  it  involves  foresight — to  look  ahead 
through  a  sentence,  and  see  what  words  and  forms  will 
be  needed  to  complete  the  expression  of  thought;  it  in- 
volves self-control, — to  hold  oneself  in  hand  sufficiently 
to  choose  what  shall  be  said,  before  one  is  driven  to  the 
necessity  of  utterance — as  the  athlete  swiftly  surveys 
the  distance  to  be  passed,  the  height  of  the  bar,  and  the 
character  of  the  ground  where  he  must  land,  before  he 
springs  off  for  the  running  jump ;  it  involves,  also,  the 
power  of  mental  association,  which  may  be  called  con- 
nected memory.  This  is  one  of  the  most  mysterious 
mental  processes,  by  which  an  idea  suggests  a  word 
which  we  cannot  discover  to  have  anything  in  eoaonon 


240  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

with  the  idea.  What  is  there  in  the  appearance  of  a 
soldier  walking  a  beat  or  watching  at  a  door  to  suggest 
the  word  sentinel  or  sentry  ?  Yet  we  think  of  the  word 
the  moment  we  see  the  armed  man.  But  all  these  quali- 
ties which  good  use  of  language  demands,  benefit 
thought  as  much  as  speech.  Memory,  judgment,  imagi- 
nation, foresight,  self-control,  are  among  the  noblest 
powers  of  the  human  mind,  and  it  is  a  distinct  advan- 
tage that  the  acquirement  and  retention  of  a  highly  de- 
veloped language  does  involve  the  constant  exercise  of 
these  high  intellectual  powers. 

It  is  important  for  intellectual  vigor  and  excellence 
that  these  high  powers  of  mind  which  are  concerned  in 
the  best  use  of  language  should  be  kept  in  tone  and 
training,  and  be  all  awake  at  each  moment  of  utterance. 
Especially  does  the  law  of  association  depend  upon  con- 
tinual practise,  keeping  the  stores  of  language  in  con- 
stant connection  with  the  stores  of  thought.  A  mission- 
ary who  had  been  thirty  years  in  the  South  Sea  Islands 
found  on  returning  to  his  native  land  that  he  had  al- 
most completely  forgotten  his  mother-tongue.  All  his 
associations  of  thought  for  the  lifetime  of  a  generation 
had  been  with  words  of  another  speech.  In  a  lecture  in 
which  he  was  describing  a  horseback  ride,  he  could  not 
recall  the  English  word  for  stirrup,  and  was  forced  to 
content  himself  with  saying  by  circumlocution,  "the 
thing  you  put  your  foot  in."  He  had  lost  the  connec- 
tion between  the  object  and  the  English  word  denoting 
it. 

A  young  lady,  who  for  a  while  was  assisting  in  her 
father's  store,  was  commiserated  on  the  number  of 
goods  she  had  been  obliged  to  take  down  for  an  un- 
profitable customer;  to  which  she  replied  philosoph- 
ically, "Oh,  I  don't  mind  it;  you  want  to  know  what 


IMPOVERISHMENT  OF  THE  VOCABULARY   241 

you  have,  and  that's  about  as  good  a  way  as  any."  So 
in  language  we  need  practice  and  watchful  care  to 
"know  what  we  have."  Just  as  the  boxer  exercises 
himself  in  sportive  bouts,  as  the  soldier  practises  on  the 
parade  ground  and  the  rifle  range,  as  the  ship  of  war 
shoots  away  tons  of  powder  and  shot  at  targets  on  the 
sea,  so  the  athlete  of  language  needs  to  keep  in  constant 
practice  with  the  instrument  of  expression,  and  to  have 
at  every  instant  all  the  noblest  powers  of  the  mind  sen- 
sitive, perceptive,  and  ready  for  the  worthy  and  fitting 
choice  of  words. 

Pure  English  is  the  use  of  fitly  chosen  words  in  ap- 
proved combinations.  Our  language  has  become  what 
it  is  by  a  constant  process  of  selection.  The  common 
people,  workingmen,  tradesmen,  travelers,  soldiers, 
fathers,  mothers,  housekeepers,  have  brought  in  the 
words,  and  the  artists  of  speech,  poets,  orators,  essay- 
ists, dramatists,  historians,  novelists,  rhetoricians,  sages, 
prophets  and  seers,  have  toiled  and  struggled  with  the 
material,  choosing,  shaping,  and  fitting,  to  get  out  of 
all  the  very  best  words  for  the  expression  of  single 
thoughts,  and  the  best  combinations  of  words  for  the 
expression  of  connected  thought,  that  the  well-con- 
structed sentence  may  bind  the  ideas  together  in  strong 
yet  flexible  union,  as  by  a  golden  chain.  Each  century 
has  added  something  to  the  achievements  of  the  century 
preceding,  and  the  best  English  speech  of  "to-day  is  the 
flower  and  crown  of  the  life  and  the  scholarship  of  the 
English-speaking  peoples  through  five  hundred  years. 

Since  the  right  use  of  language  requires  all  this,  it  is 
easy  to  see  how  the  decay  and  impoverishment  of  lan- 
guage should  come  unsought.  One  needs  only  to  let  go 
and  do  nothing  in  order  to  have  his  power  of  language 
decline.  A  little  drowsy  carelessness,  like  that  which 


242  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

makes  the  engineer  run  past  his  signals,  a  little  laziness, 
taking  the  first — and  poorest — word  that  comes  to  mind, 
and  the  decline  of  diction  will  take  care  of  itself,  like 
the  decay  of  a  neglected  body.  Disease  will  come  of 
doing  nothing. 

We  see  what  wholly  illiterate  people  can  make  of  a 
language  by  the  dialect  of  our  Southern  negroes,  who 
were  so  long  wholly  without  education.  With  them 
"brother"  became  "br'er, "  as  we  find  it  in  the  ''Uncle 
Remus"  stories;  "tolerable"  became  "tolluble"  and 
' '  certainly  "  "  suttingly ' ' ;  while  the  elegant,  classic 
"how  comes  it?"  is  hopelessly  disguised  in  the  recreant 
"huccum,"  used  without  a  suspicion  of  its  meaning  as 
the  equivalent  of  the  interrogative  adverb  "why?"  It 
would  need  but  a  few  generations,  if  black  and  white 
were  alike  untaught,  to  make  the  English  language  un- 
recognizable. One  special  danger  for  us  now  is  the 
great  influx  of  ignorant  foreigners,  whose  very  ideal  of 
English  is  corruption  and  barbarism; — a  danger  which 
our  public  schools  are  too  imperfectly  repressing,  while 
our  "yellow  journals"  are  accentuating  it  in  their 
eagerness  for  cheap  popularity. 

1.  One  of  the  first  results  of  this  mental  indolence 
and  negligence  is  the  use  of  a  few  words  to  do  duty  fcr 
many.  These  overworked  words  may  be  excellent  in 
themselves, — even  noble  and  beautiful — but  they  are 
utterly  inadequate  to  the  work  required  of  them,  and 
hence  much  of  their  use  is  perverted  use. 

Suppose  a  tyro  in  mechanics  is  put  into  a  carpenter's 
shop.  A  chest  of  fifty  or  sixty  tools  is  placed  before 
him.  But  at  some  time  he  has  happened  to  work  with 
a  chisel,  and  it  has  struck  his  fancy.  He  says,  "This 
is  all  I  want;  never  mind  those  others:  lock  up  the 
chest."  Now,  a  chisel  is  really  a  very  admirable  tool, 


but  its  use  is  limited.  The  bungler  wants  to  cut  a  board 
in  two.  The  cross-cut  saw  would  do  it  quickly  and 
deftly,  but  he  contrives  to  dismember  it  by  hewing  a 
channel  across  with  his  chisel.  He  needs  to  smooth  the 
edge,  where  a  good  workman  would  skilfully  employ  a 
plane;  but  he  chews  the  splinters  off  somehow  with  the 
chisel,  and  though  the  edge  is  not  very  presentable,  he 
concludes  he  will ' '  let  it  go  at  that. ' '  So,  through  all  the 
activities  of  the  shop,  he  achieves  disappointing  results, 
because  he  will  not  avail  himself  of  the  store  of  tools 
for  such  cases  made  and  provided.  You  will  say,  "No 
mechanic  was  ever  such  a  fool";  but  the  workmen  of 
language  do  such  things  every  day. 

Take,  for  instance,  the  word  splendid — an  excellent 
and  even  noble  word.  It  is  from  the  Latin  splendeo, 
shine,  and  is  associated  with  our  word  splendor,  as 
when  we  speak  of  the  splendor  of  a  starry  night  or  the 
splendor  of  some  achievement  of  valor  or  genius.  Splen- 
did signifies  "shining,  brilliant,  glorious,  illustrious"; 
in  such  sense  the  word  splendid  is  capable  of  fitting  and 
admirable  use.  But  splendid  is  now  employed  by  many 
persons  to  describe  everything  that  they  approve.  They 
speak  of  a  splendid  suit  of  clothes,  a  splendid  necktie, 
a  splendid  beefsteak,  a  splendid  bargain  at  a  bargain 
counter,  a  splendid  basement  with  a  splendid  founda- 
tion under  it,  down  in  the  dark  ground,  a  splendid  ride, 
behind  a  splendid  pair  of  horses,  with  a  splendid  coach- 
man ;  a  splendid  game,  a  splendid  batter,  catcher  or 
pitcher ;  a  splendid  doctor  or  dentist,  a  splendid  remedy 
for  a  toothache.  By  that  time  the  noble  word  has  be- 
come a  poor,  common  drudge,  like  a  bloodhorse  hauling 
a  cab  about  the  city  streets.  So  used,  the  word  splendid 
almost  ceases  to  have  a  meaning,  and  becomes  a  mere 
symptom  of  approval.  If  one  would  speak  of  an  elegant 


244  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

suit,  a  becoming  tie,  a  nice  beefsteak,  a  good  bargain,  a 
spacious  basement,  a  substantial  foundation,  a  delight- 
ful ride,  a  fine  pair  of  horses,  an  excellent  coachman,  a 
capital  game,  expert  batter,  catcher  or  pitcher,  a  skilful 
doctor  or  dentist,  a  valuable  or  effective  remedy,  each 
word  would  mean  something,  distinctive,  as  would  many 
other  words  that  might  be  substituted.  True,  one  would 
have  to  do  more  thinking,  but  that  is  the  very  thing  to 
be  desired.  We  do  not  wish  to  be  like  Dickens 's  "Mr. 
Bumble"  who  had  "enough  to  do  without  thinking." 
It  is  one  prime  recommendation  of  a  fitting  choice  of 
words  that  it  compels  thinking;  it  keeps  the  intellect 
awake;  it  leads  thought  out  in  various  and  divergent 
paths;  it  trains  judgment  and  discrimination;  it  makes 
perception  quick  and  alert. 

2.  Trite  expressions  may  become  a  serious  blemish  of 
speech,  especially  in  what  is  often  supposed  to  be  "fine 
writing."  Bechtel,  in  his  "Slips  of  Speech,"  remarks: 

"Words  and  phrases  that  may  have  been  striking  or 
effective,  or  witty  and  felicitous,  but  which  have  been 
worn  out  by  oft-repeated  use,  should  be  avoided,  such 
as:  "the  staff  of  life,"  "counterfeit  presentment,"  "the 
hymeneal  altar,"  "bold  as  a  lion,"  "throw  cold  water 
on,"  "the  rose  on  the  cheek,"  "lords  of  creation,"  "the 
weaker  sex,"  "the  better  half,"  "the  rising  genera- 
tion," "tripping  on  the  light,  fantastic  toe,"  "the  cup 
that  cheers  but  not  inebriates,"  "in  the  arms  of  Mor- 
pheus," "paid  the  debt  of  nature,"  "the  bourne  whence 
no  traveler  returns,"  "to  shuffle  off  this  mortal  coil," 
"the  devouring  element,"  "a  brow  of  alabaster,"  to 
which  we  may  add  the  remark  of  the  good  orthodox  old 
lady  in  a  religious  discussion,  "Some  people  believe  that 
everybody  will  be  saved,  but  we  "hope  for  better  things." 
In  a  word,  all  use  of  words  and  phrases  that  have  be- 


IMPOVERISHMENT  OF  THE  VOCABULARY   245 

come  unmeaning  by  idle  repetition  must  be  avoided  by 
painstaking  care.  These  are  the  second-hand  and  shop- 
worn goods  of  speech. 

3.  Cant  is  a  blemish  to  be  avoided.  Cant  is  most  fa- 
miliar in  its  religious  sense.  In  that  use  it  is  well  de- 
fined by  Drummond,  who  says:  "There  is  a  type  of 
religious  experience  natural  to  a  man  of  fifty,  and  a 
different  type  natural  to  a  youth  of  fifteen.  If  the 
youth  of  fifteen  talks  in  the  style  of  the  man  of  fifty, 
that  is  cant."  This  sweeps  in  a  great  deal  of  our  re- 
ligious phraseology,  which  is  used,  not  because  it  ex- 
presses what  we  mean,  now,  but  because  we  have  in- 
herited it  from  those  with  whom  it  did  mean  something 
sacred  long  ago.  Archbishop  Whately  remarks  that 
many  of  these  inherited  expressions  are  used  "not  as 
vehicles  of  thought,  but  as  substitutes  for  thought."' 
Such  expressions  as  "renouncing  the  vanities  of  the 
world"  are  often  used  without  a  thought  of  giving  up 
anything  that  the  speaker  really  cares  for. 

It  is  related  of  Henry  Ward  Beecher  in  his  early  days 
in  Plymouth  Church,  that  in  a  prayer-meeting  where 
a  member  was  bemoaning  himself  in  set  terms  as  a 
"wretched  and  miserable  sinner,"  Beecher  interrupted 
with  the  remark.  "Very  well,  brother,  just  tell  us  what 
you've  been  doing," — when  the  penitent  suddenly  sat 
down.  To  know  whether  we  are  really  sincere  we  need 
to  translate  many  old  phrases  into  common  speech,  and 
see  if  we  mean  them  then.  If  we  really  do,  we  shall  be 
apt  to  use  the  common  speech  in  expressing  them.  Even 
some  form  of  the  divine  name  is  used  by  many  persons 
in  public  prayer  with  such  tedious  reiteration  that  one 
cannot  help  feeling  that  it  is  used  to  fill  a  blank,  and  is 
thus  literally  "taking  the  name  of  the  Lord  in  vain.'* 
"Use  not  vain  repetitions  as  the  heathen  do."  There  is 


246  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

one  perfectly  appropriate  word  to  use  when  one  comes 
to  a  pause  of  thought  in  public  prayer,  and  that  word 
is,  "Amen." 

It  may  be  remarked  here,  incidentally,  that  much  of 
profane  swearing  is  a  mere  substitute  for  thought.  The 
man  thinks  of  no  appropriate  word  to  use,  and  so  falls 
back  upon  an  oath,  the  blasphemy  in  his  mouth  serving 
as  a  disguise  for  the  emptiness  of  his  head. 

In  a  wider  sense  "cant"  denotes  the  constant  use  of 
terms  belonging  to  one's  profession  or  business, — the 
minister,  teacher,  lawyer,  tradesman  or  editor  using 
words  peculiar  to  his  particular  work,  or  using  common 
words  in  a  special,  technical  sense.  Thus  in  the  news- 
paper, aside  from  the  editorials,  everything  is  either  an 
"ad"  (advertisement)  or  a  "story"  (this  word  denot- 
ing almost  anything  that  can  be  printed  except  an 
"ad"). 

In  society,  at  clubs  and  in  social  parties  there  is  an 
unwritten  law  against  "talking  shop,"  that  is,  talking 
of  one's  special  business,  and  many  persons  suppose 
this  to  be  a  mere  social  fad;  but  it  is  founded  upon  a 
deep  law  of  human  nature.  "Talking  shop"  is  nar- 
rowing, and  keeps  one  narrow.  Many  a  man  when  he 
first  encounters  this  prohibition  finds  himself  instantly 
in  a  "dry  town."  He  says,  "Why,  what  can  I  talk 
about?"  That  shows  that  he  has  already  become  nar- 
row. His  whole  mental  force  runs  in  the  grooves  of  his 
common  work.  He  is  the  very  man  who  needs  to  be  put 
where  he  can  not  talk  of  his  business,  and  must  talk  of 
something  else.  So  he  will  awaken  to  the  wider  inter- 
ests of  the  world,  gain  mental  freedom,  and  be  on  the 
path  of  true  culture.  He  will  begin  to  notice  things 
outside  his  business.  He  will  be  hunting  for  them  and 
reading  about  them,  in  order  not  to  be  a  mere  dummy 


IMPOVERISHMENT  OF  THE  VOCABULARY  247 

in  a  dress  coat  when  he  comes  into  society;  and  that 
broadening  out  is  good  for  him.  He  will  even  be  a  bet- 
ter business  man  for  it,  touching  human  life  outside  his 
trade. 

Whenever  we  find  it  hard  to  keep  from  the  language 
of  our  daily  work,  that  work  is  getting  to  be  a  mental 
obsession.  Then  we  should  force  ourselves  to  change 
and  variety,  and  with  the  broadening  of  interests  will 
come  a  wider  and  richer  command  of  pure  English 
suited  to  the  broader  interests  of  the  great,  living  world. 

4.     Slang  may  be  defined  as: 

"Any  word  or  phrase  current  among  the  uneducated  or 
ruder  classes,  and  not  accepted  or  approved  by  good  literary 
authority;  also,  any  legitimate  word  or  phrase  used  in  a 
sense  not  so  approved." 

Greenough  and  Kittredge,  in  their  excellent  volume, 
"Words  and  Their  Ways  in  English  Speech,"  give  a 
more  breezy  definition  as  follows: 

"A  peculiar  kind  of  vagabond  English,  always  hanging  on 
the  outskirts  of  legitimate  speech,  but  continually  straying 
or  forcing  its  way  into  the  most  respectable  company,  is 
what  we  call  slang." 

Slang,  for  the  most  part,  comes  up  from  the  coarser 
and  more  ignorant  portion  of  the  community.  Reading 
but  few  books,  and  those  usually  of  no  literary  merit, 
they  have  nothing  to  hold  them  up  to  high  standards  of 
speech.  Coarse  and  rude  associations  lead  to  coarse  and 
rude  expression.  Even  words  and  phrases  once  excel- 
lent in  meaning  come  to  express  some  idea  of  the  saloon 
or  the  gutter.  If  these  expressions  are  vigorous,  they 
quickly  become  current,  for  feeble,  lethargic,  and  unin- 
ventive  minds  are  glad  to  be  caught  up  and  carried 
along  by  those  of  more  originality  and  force,  who  are 


248  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

yet  not  too  far  above  their  own  grade.  Thus  some  word 
or  phrase  that  is  rudely  picturesque  or  energetic  will  go 
down  street  after  street,  through  whole  sections  of  a 
city.  The  low  theaters  catch  it  up,  the  saloons  pass  it 
over  the  bar,  the  yellow  journals  print  it,  business  men 
who  deal  with  the  rough  element  adopt  it,  children  learn 
it  from  their  playmates. 

There  is  slang  that  comes  from  special  classes  or  pro- 
fessions. A  distinct  variety  of  this  is  "college  slang." 
Students,  who  know  perfectly  well  that  an  expression 
is  undesirable,  use  it  defiantly,  because  it  is  a  badge  of 
studenthood,  and  the  public  opinion  they  care  most  for 
— that  of  their  own  mates — sustains  them  in  it.  It  was 
said  of  a  certain  student  in  Harvard  that  he  had  but 
two  adjectives — "stunning"  for  whatever  he  approved, 
and  "beastly"  for  anything  he  disliked. 

"Widely  prevalent  is  the  slang  that  consists  simply 
in  the  perversion  of  some  perfectly  good  word  or  phrase. 
The  word  "kick"  may  have  proper  use,  as  when  the 
football  player  "kicks  a  goal."  But  when  the  word  is 
used  as  meaning  "to  object,"  that  use  is  slang.  A  dear 
old  lady  who  kept  a  country  post-office  failed  to  deliver 
a  letter  in  time,  and  the  aggrieved  correspondent  com- 
plained to  the  Post-Office  Department.  As  his  footman 
stated  it,  "he  kicked  at  that;"  on  which  she  remarked, 
"I  suppose  that  means  that  he  stomped  his  foot.  It 
showed  a  bad  temper." 

"Circus"  is  a  perfectly  good  word,  coming  down  from 
the  old  Roman  times,  but  when  it  is  said  that  "the  pro- 
fessors had  a  circus  over  the  behavior  of  the  students," 
the  word  in  that  use  becomes  slang,  since  it  is  not  to  be 
supposed  that  there  were  elephants,  lions,  tigers,  or  per- 
forming monkeys  in  the  faculty-room. 

There  is  the  word  "fierce."    It  is  proper  to  say  that 


IMPOVERISHMENT  OF  THE  VOCABULARY   249 

a  tiger  is  fierce,  but  to  say  that  an  ill-fitting  suit  is  fierce 
is  slang. 

The  phrase  "all  right"  in  its  proper  use  is  unexcep- 
tionable, as  when  we  say,  "Those  examples  are  all 
right;"  or  "That  price  is  all  right."  But  the  phrase 
may  become  very  objectionable  slang  when  used  in  an 
adverbial  sense  to  mean  "certainly,"  "undoubtedly;" 
as,  "He  stole  the  money  all  right;"  "He  knocked  him 
down  all  right;"  meaning,  not  that  larceny  or  assault 
and  battery  are  ethically  commendable,  but  that  these 
things  undoubtedly  happened.  In  this  case  the  phrase 
is  doubled  upon  itself  in  a  way  that  strikingly  illustrates 
the  poverty  of  thought  out  of  which  slang  arises.  Thus 
it  is  said  of  a  successful  prize-fighter,  "He's  all  right 
all  right;"  the  first  "all  right"  meaning  that  he  is  a 
competent  bruiser,  and  the  second  "all  right"  signify- 
in?  that  the  first  "all  right"  is  beyond  a  doubt.  Out 
of  three  hundred  thousand  words  in  the  English  lan- 
guage, the  pitiable  poverty  of  slang  cannot  find  variants 
enough  to  prevent  using  one  poor  phrase  twice  over  in 
a  little  sentence  of  seven  words. 

It  is  proper  to  say  we  are  "tired"  when  that  is  the 
fact,  but  the  phrase  becomes  slang  when  it  is  used  to 
mean  "disgusted"  or  "annoyed."  I  may  say  "Climb- 
ing these  hills  makes  me  tired,"  but  if  I  say  "That 
man's  self-conceit  makes  me  tired,"  I  am  using  slang. 

The  race-track  has  supplied  a  slang  perversion  of  the 
phrase  "out  of  sight."  Yet  the  unspoiled  phrase  is 
capable  of  noble  and  beautiful  use,  as  when  Tennyson 
writes :  v 

<fLove  took  up  the  harp  of  life,  and  smote  on  all  the  chords 

with  might 
Smote  the  chord  of  self,  which  trembling  passed  in  music 

out  of  sight." 


250  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

Now  the  question  arises,  When  good  words  and 
phrases  are  thus  perverted,  what  are  we  to  do?  Must 
we  give  them  up  because  certain  classes  use  them  amiss  ? 
This  may,  in  rare  cases,  be  necessary.  Some  words  once 
approved  in  the  best  society  have  gone  out  of  respecta- 
ble use  because  slang  usage  had  profaned  them  beyond 
recovery. 

But,  as  a  rule,  it  is  the  part  of  the  educated  classes  to 
hold  the  good  word  or  phrase  to  its  true  literary  level 
and  use,  never  using  it  in  any  false  or  doubtful  sense, 
and  never  recognizing  the  false  use.  Ordinarily,  if  the 
correct  use  is  firmly  held  by  speakers,  writers  and 
teachers,  it  will  conquer  in  the  end.  For  slang  is  essen- 
tially ephemeral.  The  uneducated  classes  have  short 
memories.  The  lack  of  fixedness  of  language  among 
them  for  want  of  books  and  reading  affects  even  their 
slang  dialect,  so  that  expressions  at  one  time  common 
among  them  are  soon  forgotten,  and  a  new  variety  of 
corruptions  takes  the  place  of  the  extinct  monstrosities, 
while  pure  English  still  holds  on  its  way. 

As  regards  the  class  of  slang  words  that  originated 
in  corruption  and  are  below  the  reach  of  redemption,  it 
is  not  the  object  of  this  work  to  supply  a  slang  diction- 
ary. 

Any  attempt  to  give  a  list  of  slang  expressions  that 
are  to  be  avoided  is  wholly  vain.  Whoever  will  look 
over  such  lists  in  any  rhetorical  book  that  has  been  five 
years  on  the  market  will  find  himself  commenting, 
"Why,  nobody  says  this; — nobody  says  that."  The 
rude  toy  is  flung  away  when  it  is  no  longer  new,  so  that 
a  list  of  slang  words  and  phrases  becomes  obsolete  by 
the  time  it  is  printed.  The  chief  test  is  a  negative  one. 
A  word  or  phrase  that  is  not  in  good  literature,  and  is 
not  used  by  persons  of  education  and  refinement,  may 


IMPOVERISHMENT  OP  THE  VOCABULARY   251 

be  safely  set  down  as  slang, — not  to  be  used,  unless, 
after  adequate  probation,  it  shall  prove  itself  worthy 
of  place  in  the  language. 

The  element  which  makes  slang  attractive  to  some 
among  the  better  classes  is  a  surfeit  of  correctness,  just 
as  some  years  ago  people  became  tired  of  the  faultless 
printing  of  the  Riverside  Press,  and  for  awhile  we  had 
title-pages  with  letters  of  all  sizes  mixed  in  hopeless 
confusion  and  leaning  to  all  points  of  the  compass — a 
momentary  fashion  that  passed  so  quickly  as  to  be  now 
forgotten.  But  the  fickle  taste  that  becomes  tired  of 
correctness  soon  finds  deformity  tedious  when  that  is 
made  common.  Then  correctness  comes  to  its  own,  and 
those  who  have  kept  on  using  pure  English  are  in  the 
fashion,  because  the  fashion  has  come  back  to  the  stand- 
ard. Real  gold  or  choice  lace  does  not  lose  value  by 
not  being  new. 

As  a  rule  the  words  of  the  race-track,  the  gambling 
table,  the  liquor  saloon,  and  the  lower  life  of  the  street 
are  undesirable.  To  "pass  in  his  checks"  can  never 
become  a  good  synonym  for  "die,"  because  it  represents 
the  act  of  the  defeated  gambler  who  has  lost  everything, 
and  no  self-respecting  person  wishes  thus  to  think  of 
the  solemn  close  of  life. 

"So  live  that  when  thy  summons  comes 
To  join  the  innumerable  caravan  that  moves 
To  the  pale  realms  of  shade  when  each  shalt  take 
His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death, 
Thou  go,  not  like  the  quarry  slave  at  night 
Scourged  to  his  dungeon,  but  sustained  and  soothed 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave, 
Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams." 

The  lower  life  must  not  be  permitted  to  soil  and  spoil 
all  that  has  upheld  the  noblest  souls  for  ages. 


252  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

It  should  be  said  in  fairness  that  among  the  enormous 
multitude  of  slang  words  and  phrases  there  are  in  each 
generation  a  few  that  meet  a  real  need  of  the  language, 
and  win  their  way  to  acceptance.  Dean  Swift,  in  1750, 
objected  to  the  words  sham,  banter,  bubble,  mob,  and 
shuffle,  all  of  which  have  become  approved  English.  In 
our  own  day  the  word  graft  has  probably  made  its  place, 
because  it  is  an  expressive  utterance  of  a  fact.  Just  as 
the  horticulturist  sets  a  twig  into  a  stock  of  a  different 
kind,  so  the  policeman  grafts  upon  his  salary  protection 
money  for  the  Sunday  saloon,  or  the  politician  grafts 
upon  his  legislative  recompense  some  perquisites  from 
corrupt  corporations. 

When  a  slang  word  or  phrase  is  vigorous  and  ex- 
pressive, when  it  meets  a  real  need  of  the  language,  it 
will  gradually  be  adopted  by  the  educated  class ;  at  first 
in  quotation  marks,  or  with  some  saving  clause,  such  as 
"to  use  a  common  phrase,"  "so  to  speak,"  or  the  like. 
Then,  at  length,  with  all  marks  of  quotation  or  apology 
removed,  it  will  take  its  place  as  accepted  English.  Be- 
cause our  language  is  alive,  it  is  susceptible  of  change. 
It  is  only  the  dead  languages,  like  the  Latin  or  the  clas- 
sic Greek,  that  are  fixed  and  unchangeable. 

But  the  burden  of  proof  is  always  against  the  slang 
expression.  Let  it  be  put  on  probation  before  it  is  ad- 
mitted into  good  society.  Be  sure  that  it  is  among  the 
elect.  Make  sure  that  there  is  a  real  need  for  that 
word  or  phrase.  If  it  has  genuine  merit,  it  will  not  be 
hurt  by  objection  and  criticism,  while  our  caution  will 
save  our  language  from  the  inroad  of  a  host  of  worth- 
less adventurers. 

The  only  safe  rule  is:  that  slang  is  never  to  be  used 
except  with  care  and  intent,  knowing  it  to  be  slang,  be- 
lieving it  to  be  expressive  for  the  immediate  purpose, 


IMPOVERISHMENT  OF  THE  VOCABULARY   253 

and  when  no  better  word  or  phrase  equally  forcible  can 
be  substituted. 

But  in  the  vast  majority  of  cases  it  will  be  found  that 
one  chief  count  of  the  indictment  against  slang  is,  that 
it  saves  the  trouble — and  the  glory — of  thinking.  The 
same  cheap  word  or  phrase  may  be  used  for  any  one  of 
a  hundred  ideas;  and  it  will  be  found  that  those  who 
use  slang  are  constantly  repeating  themselves.  Slang 
is  the  advertisement  of  mental  poverty. 

Because  it  is  easy,  because  it  may  make  one  word  or 
phrase  answer  for  many  ideas,  thus  weakening  the  dis- 
criminating faculty  of  the  mind,  because  it  may  be  a 
substitute  for  thought,  slang  tends  to  the  impoverish- 
ment of  the  vocabulary.  Because  it  so  largely  comes 
from  the  coarse  and  rude  elements  of  our  population,  or 
even  from  the  baser  associations  and  pursuits,  it  tends 
to  the  degradation  of  style,  whether  in  conversation  or 
in  public  speaking  or  writing. 

The  stir  of  the  lower  life  is  constantly  bringing  to  the 
surface  mud,  slime,  antique  carving  or  inlaid  work  per- 
verted to  some  base  or  ignoble  use.  It  is  for  those  who 
have  had  the  privilege  of  education  and  culture  to  hold 
fast  to  what  they  know  is  good  and  beautiful  in  accepted 
standards,  and  thus  help  the  whole  community  to  keep 
unspoiled  the  grand  inheritance  of  our  toil-won,  hard- 
won,  and  nobly  expressive  English  speech. 


CHAPTER   XI 

DIFFICULTIES    IN    ENGLISH— THE 
WAY    OUT 

To  minds  of  a  certain  order — often  of  a  very  learned 
— the  English  language  bristles  with  difficulties. 
It  is  sown  thick  with  perplexities.  The  fact  that  Eng- 
lish-speaking people  are  quite  generally  unaware  of 
these  affords  the  censors  no  relief.  In  their  view,  this 
simply  shows  the  dense  stupidity  of  the  uninstructed 
"masses,"  and  the  careless  superficiality  of  multitudes 
who  mistakenly  suppose  themselves  to  be  educated. 

It  is  related  that  a  Western  cowboy,  on  a  visit  to 
town,  applied  to  a  dentist  to  fill  two  teeth  for  him,  but 
the  dentist  refused,  assuring  him  that  the  teeth  were 
perfectly  sound.  Next  day  the  cowboy  returned,  ex- 
claiming triumphantly,  "I  went  to  that  dentist  over 
the  way,  and  he  filled  those  two  teeth  for  me."  "That 
is  strange,"  said  the  first  practitioner,  "for  I  could  not 
find  any  cavities."  "Oh,  well,"  was  the  cheerful  reply, 
"he  couldn't  till  he'd  drilled  a  spell."  There  are  lin- 
guistic operators  who  have  drilled  the  English  language 
so  thoroughly  that  they  have  published  thick  books, 
showing  the  cavities  they  would  fill  with  the  pure  gold 
of  scholarship,  manifestly  superior  to  the  mere  natural 
growth.  Such  books  have  upon  the  average  student 
much  the  effect  that  the  reading  of  patent-medicine  ad- 
vertisements has  upon  a  healthy  man.  He  is  quite  sure 
he  has  some  of  the  symptoms,  and  all  these  diseases  may 
be  lying  in  wait  for  him.  So  the  numberless  "errors" 

254 


DIFFICULTIES   IN   ENGLISH  255 

in  English  may  have  left  their  trail  over  all  he  has  ever 
spoken  or  written — who  shall  say  where? — and  may 
blemish  all  he  shall  ever  yet  speak  or  write.  Under 
such  treatment  the  speaking  or  writing  of  English  be- 
comes a  fearsome  thing.  As  in  the  ancient  prophetic 
vision,  "He  that  fleeth  from  the  fear  shall  fall  into  the 
pit,  and  he  that  cometh  up  out  of  the  pit  shall  be  taken 
in  the  snare." 

The  researches  of  these  experts  of  inaccuracy  remind 
one  of  the  fox-hunting  of  Sir  Koger  de  Coverley,  when 
he  killed  more  foxes  than  were  ever  before  known  to  be 
in  the  country,  and  confided  to  the  "Spectator"  that 
he  used  to  pay  collectors  to  introduce  and  liberate  the 
animals  surreptitiously,  in  order  that  they  might  be 
hunted  down.  The  pleasure,  be  it  understood,  is  not  in 
the  elimination  of  the  foxes  or  the  difficulties,  but  in 
the  hunting  of  them.  Let  us  note  a  few  of  the  difficul- 
ties and,  first, 

"THE  NON-TRANSFERABLE  GENDER:" 

"If  any  lady  or  gentleman  has  lost  her  or  his  purse,  and 
if  dhe  or  he  will  call  at  the  office,  and  identify  the  same  as 
her  or  his  property,  it  will  be  returned  to  her  or  him." 

But  did  any  one,  in  actual  fact,  ever  get  entangled 
in  a  sentence  like  this?  No  man  ever  found  such  a  cav- 
ity in  English  without  drilling  for  it.  This  is  not  a 
morass  into  which  the  unwary  traveler  may  fall,  but  a 
ditch  deliberately  dug  for  a  critic  to  wade  in. 

There  is  less  gender  in  English  than  in  any  other  of 
the  great,  leading  languages.  But  there  still  appears  to 
be  too  much.  Among  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
English  words,  there  is  just  one  set  of  forms — those  of 
the  pronoun  of  the  third  person  singular, — that  must 
be  masculine,  feminine,  or  neuter.  On  that  unfortunate 
pronoun  the  censors  sweep  down  with  the  unerring  cer- 


256  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

tainty  of  vultures  from  a  clear  sky  on  the  only  bit  of 
carrion  in  the  landscape.  They  find  an  amount  of  per- 
plexity in  inverse  ratio  to  the  original  equipment.  In 
their  distress  of  mind,  they  have  even  labored  to  invent 
a  genderless  pronoun,  "THON,"  to  be  used  as  a  life- 
preserver  in  such  emergencies.  But  it  has  been  found 
impossible  to  inflate  the  contrivance  sufficiently  to  keep 
it  afloat  and  it  is  now  shelved  among  the  curiosities  of 
the  dictionary. 

But  why  meet  the  difficulty  at  all  ?  Here  is  a  steers- 
man on  the  open  sea,  who  says,  "There's  an  iceberg 
dead  ahead.  What  shall  I  do  when  I  come  to  it  ? "  The 
answer  is,  "Don't  come  to  it.  Steer  around  it."  The 
English  language  is  not  a  canal,  but  an  ocean.  There 
is  always  sea-room.  Steer  around  the  difficulty.  It  may 
require  a  little  foresight.  "The  prudent  man  foreseeth 
the  evil,  and  hideth  himself ;  the  simple  pass  on,  and  are 
punished."  The  military  device  of  a  flank  movement 
is  as  valuable  in  language  as  in  war.  Try  it  on  the  sen- 
tence above  given.  We  refuse  to  step  into  the  trap.  It 
is  easier  to  keep  out  than  to  get  out.  We  say,  "Any 
lady  or  gentleman  who  has  lost  a  purse  may  obtain  it 
at  the  office  by  proving  property."  Could  anything  be 
simpler?  What  has  become  of  the  difficulty?  Or,  we 
may  start  with  the  purse,  and  say,  "A  purse  has  been 
found,  which  the  owner  may  obtain  at  the  office  by  prov- 
ing property."  Still  other  forms  of  expression  will 
avoid  the  difficulty  equally  well.  In  fact,  the  ways 
around  are  so  many  as  to  make  it  surprising  that  any 
one  ever  fell  in, — but  especially  that  any  one  was  ever 
entrapped  twice. 

Nevertheless,  it  is  asked,  what  shall  we  do  for  the 
"plain  people,"  who  stumble  into  sentences,  where  they 
are  driven  to  use  "they"  or  "their"  as  singular  pro- 


DIFFICULTIES   IN   ENGLISH  257 

nouns,  to  fill  out  the  construction?  as,  "If  any  one  tries 
that,  they  will  fail,"  etc.  Dear  friend,  omit  the  "if," 
and  say,  "Any  one  who  tries  that  will  fail."  Is  the 
difficulty  very  serious  now?  English  has  an  ample  sup- 
ply of  sentence-forms,  so  that  we  need  not  continue  to 
wrestle  with  the  one  that  first  occurred  to  the  mind.  A 
sentence  is  but  an  envelope  for  a  thought;  if  the  en- 
velope first  chosen  does  not  fit,  try  another.  The  diffi- 
culty will  usually  vanish  with  the  transition.  That  is 
one  prime  secret  of  good  writing  or  speaking,  and,  — 
like  most  great  discoveries,  —  one  of  the  simplest  appli- 
cations of  common  sense. 

Suppose,  however,  that  you,  at  some  time,  thought- 
lessly run  into  the  double-gender  sentence  too  far  to  get 
back,  what  then?  Then  hew  your  way  out  with  a  vigor- 
ous he,  his,  him.  The  masculine  has  stood  as  the  repre- 
sentative gender  for  a  "time  whereof  the  memory  of 
man  runneth  not  to  the  contrary,  '  '  and  that  immemorial 
prescription  still  holds  good,  even  in  this  period  of  mili- 
tant feminism.  Trust  it,  with  the  consent  of  the  ages 
behind  you,  and  every  sensible  English-speaking  person 
will  understand  you,  and,  even  in  spite  of  himself,  ap- 
prove. 

Occasionally,  indeed,  we  encounter  a  difficulty  so  real 
that  it  may  beset  even  the  unlearned: 

WHO  OR  WHOM 


«T  T  ,,. 

I  met  two  men  •{      ,         }•  .  I  believe,  were  police- 
|  whom   ) 

men.    They  were  seeking  a  man  \  (  ,  I  am  told, 

I   whom  y 

they  found." 

Which  is  right?  Here  our  trouble  is  not  with  gender 
but  with  case,  yet  for  a  precisely  similar  reason.  We 
have  so  little  declension  in  English  that  we  do  not  know 


258  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

what  to  do  with  it  when  we  find  it.  There  is  just  one 
of  the  relative  or  interrogative  pronouns  that  has  a 
semblance  of  declension,  and  we  are  at  our  wits'  end 
how  to  handle  it.  We  are  appalled  at  a  word  that  riots 
in  the  luxury  of  a  nominative,  possessive,  and  objective 
case, — who,  whose,  whom.  Well,  if  you  will  observe 
actual  usage,  you  will  find  that  almost  all  the  real  per- 
plexity occurs  when  who  or  whom  is  followed,  as  in  the 
examples  just  given,  by  a  parenthetical  expression,  as 
"I  believe,"  "I  am  told,"  or  the  like.  Very  well. 
Omit,  for  the  moment,  the  parenthetical  expression, 
since  a  parenthesis  does  not  affect  the  construction  of 
the  rest  of  the  sentence.  Then  the  form, — either  who  or 
whom, — which  is  right  without  that  parenthetical  ex- 
pression, is  right  with  it.  Thus:  "I  met  two  men  who 

| j  were  policemen.     They  were  seeking  a  man 

whom  | 1  they  found."    The  explanation,  when 

given,  seems  too  simple  to  be  needed,  for  which  reason 
it  is  rarely  given  in  critical  works, — perhaps  on  the  prin- 
ciple that  the  eternal  pursuit  of  syntax  is  more  desira- 
ble than  its  attainment. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  a  somewhat  advanced 
knowledge  of  English  grammar  is  required  for  the  cor- 
rect use  of  who  or  whom  in  certain  special  construc- 
tions, so  that  inexperienced  persons  had  best  treat  this 
pronoun  like  a  firearm,  and  let  it  alone  if  they  are  not 
sure  at  which  end  it  will  go  off.  The  relative  may  be 
omitted  altogether: — "They  were  seeking  a  man,  and  I 
am  told  they  afterward  found  him."  Even  the  way- 
faring man  need  not  err  in  that  construction.  Or,  we 
may  keep  any  parenthetical  phrase  from  intruding  be- 
tween the  relative  and  its  verb,  in  which  case  all  trouble 
disappears: — "I  met  two  men  who  were,  I  believe,  po- 
licemen. They  were  seeking  a  man  whom  they  after- 


DIFFICULTIES   IN   ENGLISH  259 

ward  found,  as  I  am  told."  Neither  of  those  construc- 
tions should  puzzle  an  intelligent  boy  or  girl  in  the 
grammar  school.  Either  who  or  whom  will  ordinarily 
take  care  of  itself  if  not  insulated  from  its  verb  by  some 
non-conducting  phrase. 

But  though  the  spell  of  who  or  whom  be  thus  laid,  the 
conjurer  of  difficulties  reinforces  it  by  the  magic  word 
ever  into  a  darker  and  deadlier  hoodoo: — "Give  the  job 

to  \  lean  do  it  best."    Which  of  these  forms 

1^  whomever  j 

is  right?  Is  either  right?  Let  us  ask,  Who  is  to  have 
the  job?  The  answer  is,  " whoever  can  do  it  best."  All 
those  words  go  together  to  describe  the  successful  appli- 
cant. The  whole  clause  is  one  noun-element,  and  is  the 
object  of  the  preposition  "to,"  so  that  the  sentence 
properly  is,  "Give  the  job  to  whoever  can  do  it  best." 
We  have  the  answer,  but  is  it  worth  while  ?  In  the  time 
taken  to  puzzle  that  out,  we  could  have  used  any  one 
of  several  transparently  clear  forms,  as,  for  instance, 
"Give  the  job  to  the  one  who  can  do  it  best;"  and  gone 
on  to  something  more  profitable.  Another  specter  is 

THE  INCOHERENT  NOMINATIVE 


"Either  you  or  I  \          t  mistaken."    "Neither  he 
|  are  j 

!ts     i 
v  to  blame. ' '    Why  does  any  one  want  to 
am   J 

drive  into  such  a  blind  alley,  where  there  is  so  plainly 
"no  thoroughfare"?  Still,  if  you  do  rush  in,  how 
are  you  to  get  out?  Grammatical  rules  have  been  in- 
vented to  relieve  the  strain,  but  few  persons  can  re- 
member them  in  time  to  be  of  service.  Here,  again,  try 
the  flank  movement.  There  are  various  convenient 
auxiliaries  that  are  innocent  of  person  and  number — 


260  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

may,  can,  must,  shall,  will,  might,  could,  would,  should. 
Among  these  you  may  choose  with  absolute  safety, — 
always  supposing  you  are  not  using  thou  as  one  of  your 
pronouns,  a  supposition  which,  in  modern  usage,  may 
•commonly  be  taken  for  granted.  You  may  say,  ' '  Either 
you  or  I  may  be — must  be — will  be  found  to  be — may 
prove  to  be — mistaken;"  "Neither  he  nor  I  can  be  to 
blame" — or  "should  be  blamed."  Another  simple  de- 
vice is  to  detach  any  nominative  after  the  first,  and  let 
it  follow  in  a  separate  clause,  as :  ' '  Either  you  are  mis- 
taken, or  /  am,"  etc.  With  a  very  moderate  degree  of 
skill,  one  instinctively  steers  clear  of  forms  thus  in- 
herently awkward  or  clumsy,  so  that  specimens  of  them 
are  rarely  to  be  found,  except  in  the  critical  books  that 
lament  their  occurrence. 

"THE  NON-TRANSFERABLE  AUXILIARY" 

"Arkansas  never  has,  and  never  will  be  represented 
by  a  better  man."  Of  course,  the  simple  way  is  to  fill 
out  the  construction: — "Arkansas  never  has  been,  and 
never  will  be,"  etc.  But  all  possibility  of  blundering 
would  be  obviated  by  keeping  the  past  and  future  ex- 
pressions entirely  separate : — ' '  Arkansas  never  has  been 
represented  by  a  better  man,  and  never  will  be."  A 
newspaper  account  of  conditions  among  the  Mexican 
refugees  at  Fort  Bliss,  a  few  years  ago,  reads  as  fol- 
lows:— "Not  less  than  a  baby  a  day,  and  on  one  day 
five,  has  been  born  since  the  camp  was  formed."  This 
unexpected  crowding  of  population  appears  to  have  had 
a  sympathetic  effect  in  crowding  the  reporter's  state- 
ment. We  are  so  perpetually  warned  against  using  too 
many  words,  that  we  lose  sight  of  the  possibility  of 
using  too  few.  By  an  added  clause  the  statement  be- 
comes at  least  grammatical.  ' '  Not  less  than  a  baby  a  day 


261 

lias  been  born,  etc.,  and  on  one  day  five  were  born." 
Use  words  enough.  English  will  not  bear  more  than 
a  certain  amount  of  jamming.  That  is  a  merit  of  the 
language,  requiring  orderly  development  of  thought  as 
a  prerequisite  to  simplicity  of  expression. 

"I  DON'T  THINK  So" 

Alas  for  the  gentle  and  patient  rows  of  Normal 
School  teachers  and  Chautauqua  victims  who  are  dra- 
gooned into  dread  of  the  harmless  expression,  "I  don't 
think  so ! "  The  instructor  has  found  in  his  dictionary 
that  "to  think"  is  "to  exercise  the  mental  faculties;  to 
carry  on  the  process  of  thought."  Hence,  to  say  that 
you  do  not  think  is  an  awful  thing.  It  is  a  confession 
of  imbecility.  It  is  a  pity  that  the  critic  did  not  read 
just  a  little  further  in  his  dictionary,  instead  of  going 
off  at  half-cock.  Then  he  would  have  ascertained  that 
"to  think"  means  also,  "to  entertain  a  particular  opin- 
ion. "  If  I  do  not  ' '  entertain  the  particular  opinion ' ' 
that  the  critic  ' '  entertains, ' '  that  may  be  disappointing 
to  him,  but  is  it  necessarily  absurd  in  me?  Our  answer 
to  him  is,  "I  think,  indeed,  but  not  as  you  do.  I  think, 
but  not  so.  In  short,  I  do  not  think  so. ' '  But,  why  not 
say,  "I  think  not?"  Because  that  is  more  than  an 
equivalent,  signifying  that  I  definitely  entertain  a  con- 
trary opinion,  which  may  not  be  the  fact.  When  I  say, 
"I  do  not  think  so,"  I  simply  do  not  accept  the  "par- 
ticular opinion"  advanced,  though  I  may  not  hold  a 
definite  opinion  to  the  contrary. 

PREPOSITION  ENDING  SENTENCE 
We  are  told,  "Never  end  a  sentence  with  a  preposi- 
tion."   Why  not?    Because  it  cannot  be  done  in  Latin. 
Very  well.    That  is  one  of  the  disabilities  of  the  Latin. 
But  English  is  independent  in  origin  and  idiom,  and 


262  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

can  do  more  and  better  things  in  many  ways  than  the 
Latin  ever  did  or  could.  The  English  usage  that  may 
on  occasion  throw  a  preposition  to  the  end  of  the  clause 
or  sentence  has  come  down  from  ancient  days,  as  indi- 
cated by  the  quotations  given  in  a  previous  chapter 
(Ch.  VII,  p.  151).  Take  one  quotation  there  given: 

"The  soil  out  of  which  such  men  as  he  are  made  is  good 
to  be  born  on,  good  to  live  on,  good  to  die  for,  and  to  be 
buried  in." 

We  should  weaken  this  indescribably,  if  we  were  to 
make  it  read: 

" good  on  which  to  be  born,  on  which  to  live,  for 

which  to  die,  and  in  which  to  be  buried. ' ' 

Why?  Because  we  have  separated  the  important 
words  in  each  clause  by  the  uncared-for  particles,  on, 

for — • — in which, and  the  mind  must  hurry 

past  these  to  reach  the  items  really  of  interest,  finding 
the  elements  of  constructive  formality  very  much  in  its 
way.  Unfettered  and  vigorous  speech  brushes  these 
formalities  aside,  gives  first  place  to  the  words  express- 
ing the  important  thought,  and  then  pays  its  gram- 
matical scot  in  the  preposition  appended  at  the  end 
of  the  clause  or  sentence, — "good  to  die  for,"  etc. 
It  is  an  element  of  power  in  the  English  language  that 
it  can  thus  march  across  technicalities  to  attain  the 
great  purpose  of  speech — the  expression  of  thought. 

It  may  be  further  mentioned  here  that  the  relative 
pronoun  that  necessarily  sends  the  preposition  to  the 
end  of  the  clause  or  sentence: — "This  is  the  point  that 
I  insist  upon."  There  is  no  difficulty  of  English  here, 
except  the  "difficulty"  of  imposing  a  misfit  rule  of 
Latin  syntax  upon  English  sense.  But  nothing  suits 
the  difficulty-hunter  so  well  as  to  fall  foul  of  an  ac- 


DIFFICULTIES   IN   ENGLISH  263 

cepted  English  idiom,  sure  to  recur.  It  is  like  a  runway 
for  game.  Set  your  snare  across  that,  and  you  will  in- 
fallibly catch  somebody. 

We  believe  that  Purists  have  their  use.  It  is  well 
that  some  boundaries  should  be  delimited,  even  by  wire 
fences,  to  prevent  all  speech  from  relapsing  into  a  lin- 
guistic wilderness;  but  it  would  sadly  hinder  freedom 
of  communication  and  enjoyment  of  nature,  if  barbed 
wires  bordered  every  sidewalk  and  every  woodland 
path.  What  we  resent  is  the  assumption  that  difficuL 
ties  are  the  main  thing  in  English,  constituting  its  chief 
charm  and  the  prime  purpose  of  its  existence.  We  ob- 
ject to  arbitrary  tests  set  like  the  two  pillars  at  the  en- 
trance of  the  Mohammedan  temple,  so  that  no  devotee 
who  cannot  squeeze  between  them  can  hope  to  enter 
Paradise. 

Correct  English  is  a  comparatively  slight  thing, — an 
incidental  propriety, — like  a  man's  keeping  his  face 
clean,  which  it  is  no  special  merit  to  observe,  but  very 
discreditable  to  neglect  when  the  exigencies  of  life  make 
it  possible,  though  the  soldier  or  the  sailor,  the  miner 
or  the  machinist,  may  well  have  things  so  much  more 
important  to  do  that  he  can  not  for  a  time  even  think  of 
that.  Correctness  of  speech  is  but  incidental  to  the  main 
purpose  of  speech.  We  need  correct  English,  indeed; 
but,  far  more  than  that,  we  need  English  worthy  of  its 
history  and  its  destiny, — noble,  achieving,  masterful 
English,  Instinct  with  life,  able  to  move  the  world. 
There  is  a  correctness  so  deadly  dull  that  a  good,  vigor- 
ous blunder  would  be  a  relief  and  a  delight.  There  is 
such  a  thing  as  freedom,  the  birthright  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  race,  and  this  freedom  pervades  our  language. 
English  has  refused  to  accept  the  iron  rules  within 


264  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

which  so  many  other  languages  are  corseted,  and  con- 
tinues to  refuse  and  resent  the  stays. 

Dr.  Hugh  Blair  has  devoted  twenty-six  pages  of  his 
"Lectures  on  Rhetoric"  to  critical  examination  of  four 
of  Addison 's  papers  in  the  "Spectator,"  and  certainly 
convicts  that  illustrious  author  of  some  inaccuracies. 
Yet,  when  Dr.  Blair  reconstructs  a  sentence,  and  tells 
us  what  Addison  "might  have  said,"  we  are  almost  in- 
variably glad  that  Addison  did  not  say  it.  If  he  had 
set  his  heart  on  the  formal  correctness  his  critic  de- 
mands, that  correctness  would  have  stolen  his  simplicity 
and  his  charm.  That  folly  Addison  never  committed. 
Ease  and  naturalness  marked  all  he  wrote.  As  the  re- 
sult, the  carouse- wearied  gentry  of  Queen  Anne's  day 
read  his  seemingly  off-hand  essays  at  their  breakfast 
tables,  and  amended  their  ideals  and  their  morals. 
Thousands  since  have  read  with  delight  the  unconnected 
"Spectator";  but  have  any,  except  a  few  curious  rhe- 
toricians, ever  read  Dr.  Hugh  Blair's  corrections? 
There  are  those  who  can  tell  of  Sir  "Walter  Scott  only 
that  he  fell  into  certain  errors  of  style,  and  even  of 
grammar.  Yet  the  majority  of  readers  have  never  found 
one.  They  recognize  those  that  the  critics  have  hunted 
down,  but  in  their  own  reading  they  have  been  carried 
past  them  unconsciously  by  the  rush  of  incidents  or  the 
splendor  of  description,  just  as  Scott  himself,  in  the 
fervor  of  composition,  was  swept  by.  "When  he  wrote 
"Guy  Mannering"  in  six  weeks  and  "The  Bride  of 
Lammermoor"  in  two  weeks,  he  could  only  follow  the 
flashing  thought,  and  trust  for  words  and  construction 
to  the  habitual  language  of  a  cultured  gentleman. 

And  he  did  well.  Every  great  author  or  orator  who 
has  won  and  held  the  attention  of  the  world  has  some- 
times, or  often,  let  himself  go.  No  better  rule  can  be 


DIFFICULTIES   IN   ENGLISH  265 

given  to  the  young  writer  or  speaker  than  to  get  full 
of  information,  thought,  emotion,  enthusiasm,  —  then 
trust  the  facile,  flexible  English  speech,  if  you  have  once 
learned  it  well,  and  make  a  hearty,  genuine  blunder  when 
you  must,  so  that  you  get  something  real  really  said 
or  written.  In  revision  the  author  may  well  become  his 
own  critic;  but,  even  then,  let  him  beware  that  the 
critic  does  not  exterminate  the  creator.  Even  so  sim- 
ple a  movement  as  going  down  stairs  cannot  be  per- 
formed at  once  swiftly  and  securely  by  fixing  attention 
on  every  step ;  the  stairs  will  obliterate  the  stairway. 
It  is  related  of  Father  Taylor,  of  the  Seaman's  Bethel 
in  Boston,  that,  at  one  time,  finding  himself  involved  in 
a  sentence  with  no  possible  outlet,  he  paused,  and  ex- 
claimed, "Brethen,  I've  lost  the  track  of  the  nominative 
case,  but  one  thing  I  know, — I'm  bound  for  the  king- 
dom of  heaven!"  and  the  audience  responded  "Amen! 
Amen ! "  to  the  preacher  who  thought  more  of  salvation 
than  of  syntax. 

Keeping  one's  mind  on  the  hunt  for  difficulties  in 
English  makes  one  blind  to  all  the  effectiveness  and 
majesty  of  our  noble  language.  Here  is  a  man,  for  in- 
stance, who  has  heard  of  persons  slipping  to  death  on 
orange-peel  or  banana-skins,  and  he  walks  the  streets 
of  New  York  with  scrutinizing  gaze  ever  fixed  on  the 
pavement,  and  never  sees  the  high  buildings,  the  rush- 
ing crowds,  the  stir  of  a  great  life  of  humanity  all  about 
him.  Around  the  author  or  the  orator  is  the  tide  of  life, 
with  its  towering  achievements,  struggle  momentarily 
crystallizing  into  history,  grand  ideals  of  possible  ad- 
vancement and  excellence  shining  in  the  heaven  above, 
and  closing  every  vista  of  the  yet  untraveled  way. 
Movement,  enterprise,  conquest,  are  his  inspiration. 
Difficulties,  indeed,  are  to  be  avoided,  but  only  that  they 


266  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

may  not  hinder  that  full  and  effective  expression  that 
shall  move  humanity  through  the  medium  of  speech. 
The  railway  engineer  oils  his  engine,  but  only  that  it 
may  be  free  to  move ;  the  mission  of  that  assemblage  of 
power,  whose  throttle  is  in  his  hand,  is  something  more 
than  avoidance  of  friction ;  it  must  act,  advance,  accom- 
plish results,  speeding  its  freight  of  human  life  and 
treasure  far  on  into  the  hopeful  distance;  and  nothing 
but  grim  necessity  may  be  allowed  to  hold  it  even  mo- 
mentarily in  the  repair-shop. 


CHAPTER   XII 

CLEARNESS  OF  STYLE— I 

THE  OUTFIT  FOR  THE  SPEAKER  OR  WRITER 

To  say  what  one  means  so  that  it  will  be  readily 
understood  by  some  one  else  would  seem  to  be  one  of  the 
simplest  and  easiest  things  imaginable.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  it  is  one  of  the  most  difficult.  It  is  probable  that 
one  mind  never  exactly  expresses  its  meaning  to  an- 
other. If  one  uses  so  simple  an  expression  as,  "It  is  a 
fine  day,"  that  does  not  necessarily  convey  to  the  mind 
of  the  hearer  the  same  thought  that  was  in  the  mind  of 
the  speaker.  The  speaker  may  be  thinking  of  the  beauty 
of  the  scenery,  the  light  on  the  hills,  the  sunlit  clouds 
floating  across  the  sky;  the  hearer  may  think  only  of 
the  general  agreeableness  of  the  weather,  and  of  the 
fact  that  he  does  not  need  an  umbrella.  Harriet  Beecher 
Stowe  in  her  "Oldtown  Folks"  thus  describes  the  vain 
appeal  of  a  glorious  sunrise  to  a  certain  type  of  mind: 

"The  next  morning  showed  as  brilliant  a  getting  up  of 
gold  and  purple  as  ever  belonged  to  the  toilet  of  a  morning. 
There  was  to  be  seen  from  Miss  Asphyxia's  bedroom  window 
a  brave  sight,  if  there  had  been  any  eyes  to  enjoy  it, — a  range 
of  rocky  cliffs  with  little  pin-feathers  of  black  upon  them, 
and  behind  them  the  sky  all  aflame  with  bars  of  massy  light, 
darting  hither  and  thither,  touched  now  the  window  of  a 
farmhouse,  which  seemed  to  kindle  and  flash  back  a  morning 
salutation;  now  they  hit  a  tall  scarlet  maple,  and  now  they 
pierced  between  clumps  of  pine,  making  their  black  edges 
flame  with  gold;  and  over  all,  in  the  brightening  sky,  stood 
the  morning  star,  like  a  great,  tremulous  tear  of  light,  just 
ready  to  fall  on  a  darkened  world. 

267 


268  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

"Not  a  bit  of  all  this  saw  Miss  Asphyxia,  though  she  looked 
straight  out  at  it.  Her  eyes  and  the  eyes  of  the  cow,  who, 
with  horned  front,  was  serenely  gazing  out  of  the  barn  win- 
dow at  the  same  prospect,  were  equally  unreceptive. 

"She  looked  at  all  this  solemn  pomp  of  gold  and  purple, 
and  the  mysterious  star,  and  only  said :  'Good  day  for  killin* 
the  hog.' " 

In  fact,  the  ordinary  reader  seldom  catches  at  first 
reading  the  full  thought  which  a  great  poet  or  essayist 
has  in  mind, — if,  indeed,  he  ever  attains  it;  and  the 
orator  never  knows,  except  by  the  effect  of  his  speaking, 
how  much  of  his  thought  has  actually  reached  his  audi- 
ence. The  aim  of  perspicuity  is  to  convey  the  thought 
of  the  speaker  or  writer  to  the  mind  of  the  hearer  or 
reader  just  as  clearly  as  thought  can  be  conveyed  by 
human  speech. 

The  word  perspicuity  may  be  denned  as  ' '  see-through- 
it-ive-ness, "  being  derived  from  the  Latin  perspicio, 
' '  see  through, ' '  from  per,  ' '  through, ' '  and  specio,  ' '  look 
— see. ' '  Perspicuity  is  the  quality  of  presenting  thought 
in  words  so  that  the  thought  will  be  seen  readily,  through 
the  words.  Perspicuity  is  the  first,  vital,  fundamental 
quality  of  style.  Without  being  understood,  all  worda 
are  vain.  Thus  the  great  Apostle  of  the  Gentiles  writes : 

"And  even  things  without  life  giving  sound,  whether  pipe 
or  harp,  except  that  they  give  a  distinction  in  the  sounds, 
how  shall  it  be  known  what  is  piped  or  harped  ? 

"For  if  the  trumpet  give  an  uncertain  sound,  who  shall 
prepare  himself  to  the  battle  ? 

"So  likewise  ye,  except  ye  utter  by  the  tongue  words  easy 
to  lie  understood,  how  shall  it  be  known  what  is  spoken  ?  For 
ye  shall  speak  into  the  air 

"Therefore  if  I  know  not  the  meaning  of  the  voice,  I  shall 
be  unto  him  that  speaketh  a  barbarian,  and  he  that  speaketh 
shall  be  a  barbarian  unto  me." 


OUTFIT    FOR    THE    SPEAKER  269 

Perspicuity,  or  clearness,  is  essential  in  order  to  make 
it  of  any  use  for  one  to  speak  or  write  at  all.  The  per- 
spicuous style  opens  to  reader  or  hearer  the  speaker's 
or  author's  very  thought,  not  hindered  by  the  words 
that  express  it,  but  even  enhanced  in  clearness  and  at- 
tractiveness by  the  perfect  transparency  of  the  expres- 
sion. The  perspicuous  style  may  indeed  be  dry  or  plain, 
or  even  rugged  or  abrupt.  Yet  it  has  this  one  merit, 
that  it  can  be  understood.  One  who  cares  enough  about 
the  subject  can  get  the  idea,  even  where  there  is  no 
beauty  of  expression,  if  there  is  but  this  perfect  clear- 
ness. Hence,  the  first  study  of  every  speaker  or  writer, 
especially  of  the  young  or  inexperienced,  should  be  to 
express  himself  so  as  to  make  each  thought  absolutely 
clear.  Then  he  may  adorn  it  with  every  touch  of  beauty 
of  which  he  is  capable,  so  that  the  ornament  never  hides 
nor  obscures  the  thought.  The  " safety  first"  of  travel 
must  be  answered  by  the  "clearness  first"  of  spoken  or 
written  language.  If  ever  clearness  fails  in  beauty  it 
gains,  nevertheless,  in  strength.  Men  instinctively  trust 
the  expression  which  lies  clear  before  them  like  a  level 
and  open  road,  and  the  trust  of  those  addressed  is  to 
the  speaker  or  writer  an  element  of  power.  Yet  clear- 
ness has  also  a  beauty  of  its  own.  The  clear  or  perspicu- 
ous style  is  like  a  pane  of  plate  glass,  of  which  the  eye 
takes  no  note,  absorbed  in  observing  what  is  to  be  seen 
through  it.  But  when  our  attention  is  once  directed 
to  the  medium,  we  find  a  rare  beauty  in  that  sheet  of 
firm,  almost  viewless  crystal,  lost  in  its  own  trans- 
parency. 

"Perspicuity  in  writing  is  not  to  be  considered  as  merely 
a  sort  of  negative  virtue,  or  freedom  from  defect.  It  has 
higher  merit;  it  is  a  degree  of  positive  beauty.  We  are 
pleased  with  an  author,  we  consider  him  as  deserving  praise, 


270  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

who  frees  us  from,  all  fatigue  of  searching  for  his  meaning; 
•who  carries  us  through  his  subject  without  any  embarrass- 
ment or  confusion;  whose  style  flows  always  like  a  limpid 
stream,  where  we  see  to  the  very  bottom." 

So  writes  Dr.  Hugh  Blair  in  his  "Lectures  on  Rhet- 
oric" (Lect.  10,  p.  102).  He  sums  up  the  matter  as 
follows : 

"Perspicuity,  it  will  be  readily  admitted,  is  the  funda- 
mental quality  of  style;  a  quality  so  essential  in  every  kind 
of  writing  that  for  the  want  of  it  nothing  can  atone.  With- 
out this,  the  richest  ornaments  of  style  only  glimmer  through 
the  dark,  and  puzzle  instead  of  pleasing  the  reader.  This, 
therefore,  must  be  our  first  object,  to  make  our  meaning 
clearly  and  fully  understood,  and  understood  without  the 
least  difficulty.  'Discourse,'  says  Quintilian,  'ought  always 
to  be  obvious,  even  to  the  most  careless  and  negligent  hearer; 
so  that  the  sense  shall  strike  the  mind  as  the  light  of  the 
sun  does  our  eyes,  though  they  are  not  directed  to  it.  Where- 
fore care  must  be  taken,  not  only  that  one  may  understand, 
but  that  he  cannot  possibly  fail  to  understand.'" 

Perspicuity  is  called  a  "relative  quality";  relating, 
that  is,  on  the  one  side  to  the  speaker  or  writer,  and  on 
the  other  to  the  hearer  or  reader.  Let  us  consider, 
under  this  double  aspect,  the  qualifications  of  the 
speaker  or  writer.  For  clear  expression  he  must  have: 

1.  Some  Clear  Idea  to  Express. — No  man  can  give 
more  or  better  than  he  has.  If  you  would  speak  or  write 
for  others,  what  have  you  to  give  them?  Is  that  sure 
and  clear  in  your  own  mind?  You  can  not  possibly 
make  clear  to  other  minds  what  is  dim,  vague,  or  con- 
fused in  your  own.  Hence,  the  very  first  condition  of 
clear  expression  is  a  clear  idea  to  be  expressed. 

Here  is  a  man  who  knows  nothing  of  the  conditions 
produced  by  the  French  Revolution  of  1789-93,  of  the 
raw  volunteers  who  crowded  to  the  colors,  of  the  med- 


OUTFIT   FOR   THE    SPEAKER  271 

ley  of  adventurers  who  became  their  officers,  and  of  the 
personal  qualities  of  the  young  conqueror  who  then 
arose;  of  his  treatment  of  defeated  nations  and  subju- 
gated provinces,  and  its  effect  upon  the  temper  of  those 
peoples;  of  the  ratio  of  the  loss  of  French  lives  in  the 
field  to  the  natural  increase  of  the  French  population; 
of  the  economic  situation  created  by  the  strain  of  in- 
cessant war.  Now  ask  that  man  to  give  a  clear  state- 
ment of  the  causes  of  the  downfall  of  Napoleon  Bona- 
parte. You  are  asking  not  for  bricks  without  straw, 
but  for  bricks  without  clay. 

Or  a  business  house  receives  a  letter  offering  certain 
goods  according  to  sample  sent.  Many  questions  are  in- 
volved: Is  the  house  that  makes  the  offer  trustworthy, 
so  that  goods  may  be  depended  upon  to  be  according  to 
sample?  Are  they  efficient,  so  that  delivery  will  be 
prompt  and  sure?  Will  the  goods  suit  the  local  public 
taste?  How  many  could  we  probably  use?  Have  we 
facilities  for  storing  and  handling  them  till  sold?  If 
we  buy  at  price  offered,  can  we  sell  so  as  to  make  a  fair 
profit?  Can  we  conveniently  pay  for  the  goods  on  de- 
livery? If  not,  what  credit  should  we  need,  that  the 
receipts  from  sales  may  enable  us  to  meet  the  account? 
Suppose  some  clerk,  in  whose  mind  not  one  of  these 
items  is  settled,  attempts  to  answer  that  proposal.  How 
can  he  possibly  write  a  clear  letter?  He  will  soon  find 
the  various  items  chasing  each  other  without  order  or 
coherence,  and  the  attempted  answer  on  one  item  inter- 
fering with  the  possible  answer  to  another.  The  true 
business  man  answers  every  one  of  these  preliminary 
questions  in  his  own  mind,  at  least,  before  he  begins  to 
frame  his  reply.  Then  he  can  dictate  in  a  few  lines  an 
absolutely  clear  letter,  for  he  knows  every  requirement 
and  every  limitation  to  be  insisted  on.  Having  satis- 


272  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

fied  himself,  for  instance,  of  the  standing  and  dependa- 
bility of  the  dealers  in  question,  and  of  his  own  facili- 
ties and  needs,  he  has  only  to  write: 

"In  reply  to  yours  of ,  you  may  send  us  (a  specified 

quantity)  of  the  goods  named,  the  same  to  be  strictly  accord- 
ing to  sample,  and  to  be  delivered  on  (a  specified  date)  with 
bill  payable  in  thirty  days." 

The  clear  thinking  that  has  gone  before  makes  the 
necessary  statements  few  and  plain. 

In  the  affairs  of  common  life,  in  all  contemplative 
and  studious  utterance,  behind  every  great  decision,  is 
clear  thinking  as  the  prerequisite  of  clear  expression. 
It  is  much  for  a  thinker  to  put  an  idea  into  words  that 
are  thoroughly  clear  to  himself.  Scholars  of  the  earlier 
centuries  would  write  their  thoughts  in  Latin,  then  sup- 
posed to  be  the  only  language  for  the  learned;  after- 
ward, perhaps,  as  a  condescension  to  the  general  pub- 
lic, they  would  translate  their  statements  into  the 
''vulgar  tongue."  The  thought  once  written  in  the 
Latin  was  fixed,  and,  if  worthy  to  live,  became  the  en- 
during property  of  the  world.  So,  always,  when  he  has 
once  reduced  his  thought  into  words  that  are  definite 
and  adequate  for  himself,  the  thinker  has  crystallized 
that  thought  in  speech,  and  given  it  imperishable  form  ; 
then  he,  or  another  thinker  who  knows  his  vocabulary, 
can  at  any  time  translate  the  statement  into  simpler  or 
more  popular  terms.  Fasten  down  your  thought  so 
that  you,  at  least,  know  definitely  what  it  means. 

2.  The  Habit  of  Clear  Thinking.— This  goes  beyond 
any  single  occasion.  No  man  can  be  sure  of  clear 
thought  upon  one  occasion  who  is  not  in  the  habit  of 
clear  thinking  on  all  occasions.  Habit  largely  domi- 
nates action,  and  in  excitement  or  emergency  always 


273 

controls.  A  young  person  by  courtesy  called  a  student, 
who  has  never  formed  a  clear  idea  of  one  lesson  studied, 
never  given  a  clear  rendering  of  one  sentence  supposed 
to  be  translated,  never  gained  one  clear  idea  from  any 
lecture  heard,  whose  reading  is  of  the  flitting  trash  of 
the  cheap  magazine,  and  whose  ordinary  conversation 
drifts  in  that  underworld  of  indeterminateness  com- 
monly known  as  slang,  sits  down  upon  some  supreme 
occasion  and  says,  ' '  Go  to,  I  will  now  write  a  clear  dis- 
cussion of  this  important  subject  assigned  me. ' '  As  well 
might  the  untrained  clerk  rise  from  his  desk  and  go 
out  to  distinguish  himself  on  the  instant  upon  the  base- 
ball or  football  field. 

One  who  would  attain  perspicuity  of  spoken  or  writ- 
ten style  must  make  clearness  of  thought  and  expres- 
sion the  habit  of  common  life, — the  experience  of  every 
day.  Never  tolerate  a  vague  idea  in  your  own  mind. 
Do  not  leave  a  single  thought  at  loose  ends.  In  the 
many  cases  where  you  can  not  at  once  reach  a  conclusion, 
be  clear  as  far  as  you  go :  "So  far,  such  seems  to  be  the 
fact  or  the  truth."  If  there  is  a  doubt,  make  clear  to 
yourself  what  you  doubt:  "the  unsettled  item  is  this, 

."  Leave  not  an  unfinished  sentence  in  your 

own  thinking ;  see  it  through  to  a  period,  just  as  if  dic- 
tating to  a  stenographer.  So  all  your  thinking  will  be 
precise  and  sure. 

Habitually  clear  thinking  will  spontaneously  tend  to 
clear  expression.  Therefore,  make  that  your  positive 
endeavor.  Send  a  swift  thought  ahead  to  shape  what 
you  have  next  to  utter.  Do  not  fear  a  brief  pause  when 
necessary  to  think  a  sentence  through  before  beginning 
it.  If  your  hearer  is  delayed  at  the  start,  he  will  save 
the  time  in  reaching  the  conclusion;  instead  of  a  local 
with  many  stops,  one  may  well  wait  for  an  express 


274  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

train  that  goes  straight  through.  Make  your  reading 
serve  the  same  purpose.  Read  the  works  of  those  who 
have  had  a  definite  message  to  give  to  the  world,  and 
have  known  how  to  give  it  so  that  the  world  can  under- 
stand. Avoid  like  a  pestilence  the  craze  for  epigram 
and  paradox,  of  which  the  charm  is  that  it  is  like  a 
Delphic  oracle,  equally  suited  to  the  most  contradictory 
results.  Read  those  things  which  are  so  clear  that,  if 
right,  they  may  be  known  to  be  right  and,  if  wrong, 
may  be  proved  to  be  wrong.  In  this  earnest  world,  why 
fight  with  shadows  and  fogs  and  windmills?  Listen  to 
the  most  thoughtful  and  definite  utterances  you  can 
hear  from  pulpit  and  platform.  Converse  with  those 
who  have  something  to  say  and  know  how  to  say  it.  To 
a  thinker  so  self-disciplined,  the  instantly  intelligible 
expression  will  come  to  seem  the  only  natural  expres- 
sion, and  any  vague,  clumsy,  indefinite  utterance  will 
become  almost  impossible. 

3.  All  Attainable  Knowledge  is,  indeed,  a  prerequi- 
site to  clear  thinking,  but  it  is  important  enough  to  be 
treated  by  and  for  itself.  We  say  "all  attainable 
knowledge," — not  all  that  is  possible  in  the  nature  of 
things, — for  which  life  does  not  allow  us  to  wait, — but 
the  fullest  attainable  within  our  limits  of  time,  place, 
and  circumstance.  Life  continually  compels  us  to  act 
on  imperfect  knowledge,  if  we  would  act  at  all.  It  was 
with  imperfect  knowledge  that  Columbus  brought  his 
keel  to  graze  the  shore  of  the  "Western  World.  But 
within  the  limits  of  what  is  for  you  attainable,  bring 
together  all  possible  data  for  clear  opinion  and  decision. 
The  very  last  item  gathered  may  be  the  most  important, 
or  may  be  the  key  to  all  the  rest.  An  old  clergyman  was 
asked  by  a  young  preacher  to  tell  him  how  to  prepare 
a  sermon.  "Fill  up  the  cask,  young  man,"  said  the  vet- 


OUTFIT   FOR   THE    SPEAKER  275 

eran;  "fill  up  the  cask.  Then,  whenever  you  tap  it 
you'll  get  a  stream."  For  the  briefest  statement  one 
can  not  know  too  much.  He  who  has  the  fullest  store 
of  knowledge  is  in  a  position  to  select  the  necessary  or 
the  most  important  items,  and  to  be  sure  that — so  far 
as  he  can  yet  make  it — his  every  statement  is  adequate. 

Such  knowledge  is  important,  not  only  for  knowing 
what  to  say,  but  also  for  knowing  what  not  to  say.  We 
are  reminded  of  the  comment  of  the  old  colored  brother 
on  the  theory  that  God  is  ignorant  of  some  things  be- 
cause he  chooses  not  to  know  them : — ' '  'Pears  like  God 
would  have  to  know  everything  'fore  he  could  know 
what  not  to  know."  The  speaker  or  writer  is  in  just 
that  case.  He  needs  to  know  all  that  might  be  said 
before  he  can  know  what  not  to  say.  You  may  always 
be  sure  that  the  statement  which  says  just  enough,  and 
with  perfect  clearness,  is  the  result  of  thorough  knowl- 
edge and  careful  study.  Every  path  of  scientific  re- 
search is  strewn  thick  with  what  the  man  of  science 
calls  "dead  work,"  useful  only  as  the  means  of  discov- 
ering what  cannot  be  known  or  done,  or  as  leading  up 
to  what  alone  is  valuable  to  know. 

Such  "dead  work"  may  never  be  mentioned  in  the 
worker 's  published  results,  or  mentioned  only  by  a  pass- 
ing reference  to  what  can  not  be;  but  with  how  sure  a 
step  may  the  guide  advance  who  has  made  himself  abso- 
lutely sure  of  not  straying  into  any  impassable  road  or 
cul-de-sac!  Every  inventor,  every  deep  thinker,  has 
much  of  the  same  experience.  The  discourse  you  hear 
or  the  book  you  read  with  rapt  attention  is  the  better 
for  the  thoughts  resolutely  shut  out,  or  for  the  matter 
actually  written,  and  then  consigned  to  the  waste-basket. 
Clearness  comes  often  from  the  non-interference  of  that 
which  can  not  be  made  clear. 


276  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

4.  Systematized   Knowledge. — There  is  probably  no 
person  more  helpless,  either  for  speech  or  action,  no  one 
more  incapable  of  a  clear  opinion,  than  the  victim  of  a 
mass  of  undigested  facts  and  ill-assorted  conclusions. 
One  who  would  be  clear  must  analyze  data  and  argu- 
ments, either  in  formal  abstract  or  in  the  silent  action 
of  his  own  mind.     A  very  successful  editor  kept  near 
his  desk  two  drawers,  one  labeled  "May"  and  the  other 
labeled  "Must."     Everything  absolutely  necessary  for 
the  next  issue   of  the   paper  went  into   the  "Must" 
drawer.    That  drawer  must  be  emptied  before  the  paper 
went  to  press.     The  things  desirable,  but  not  essential, 
went  into  the  "May"  drawer,  and  from  that  the  fore- 
man might  take  out  more  or  less,  according  as  space  or 
other  circumstances  would  permit.     Such  an  analysis 
may  and  must  items  should  be  in  the  mind  of  a  speaker 
or  writer,  as  he  runs  through  the  data  pertaining  to  the 
matter  on  which  he  is  to  speak  or  write. 

5.  Conference    with    Other    Minds. — No    one    mind 
knows  everything.    No  one  mind  sees  its  own  knowledge 
in  all  possible  lights.    Sometimes  the  remark  of  a  child 
will  illuminate  the  thought  of  a  sage.    The  man  on  the 
street  sees  what  would  not  occur  to  the  scholar  in  his 
study.    It  is  related  of  a  nobleman  on  the  Scottish  bor- 
der that,  walking  across  his  estate  with  a  shepherd  one 
bright  morning,  he  observed  the  sheep  all  clustered  on 
the  shady  side  of  the  hills.    "Now,  if  I  were  a  sheep," 
said  his  lordship,  "I  would  get  on  the  sunny  side." 
"Gin  ye  waur  a  sheep,  my  laird,  ye  wud  hae  mair 
sense,"  replied  the  shepherd,  who  knew  that  the  sun- 
shine, so  agreeable  to  the  man,  would  be  oppressive  to 
the  sheep  burdened  with  a  heavy  fleece.    One  can  never 
tell  what  sidelights  may  be  thrown  upon  a  topic  by  the 
least  promising  adviser.    Often,  too,  the  statement  of  a 


OUTFIT   FOR   THE    SPEAKER  277 

matter  to  another  shows  one  how  much  statement  is 
needed,  and  what  may  require  explanation  that  at  first 
seemed  obvious. 

Then,  the  human  mind  is  so  constituted  that  it  arouses 
itself  by  contact  with  another  mind  to  do  its  own  best 
thinking.  How  often  do  we  ask  a  person  a  question 
and  see  the  answer  before  he  can  reply.  As  a  rule,  the 
solitary  thinker  becomes  limited  and  one-sided.  Then 
he  often  retires  into  a  proud  contempt  of  the  "gross 
intellects"  of  the  great  mass  of  mankind,  who  can  not 
understand  what  he  has  made  unintelligible.  The  ordi- 
nary speaker  or  writer  may  set  it  down  as  a  fixed  prin- 
ciple that  if  he  can  not  explain  an  idea  so  that  it  will 
be  understood  by  rational  men  of  average  education, 
there  is  some  fault  either  in  the  idea  or  in  his  explana- 
tion. In  the  attempt  so  to  explain  to  others  his  own 
mind  is  aroused  and  vivified.  His  knowledge  is  increased 
by  the  very  attempt  to  impart  it.  Thus  that  eminent 
educator  of  the  nineteenth  century,  Moses  Stuart,  once 
remarked,  "I  have  never  really  known  anything  until 
I  have  either  taught  it  or  written  upon  it."  According 
to  Bacon's  succinct  and  vigorous  statement: 

"Friendship  .  .  .  maketh  daylight  in  the  understanding 
out  of  darkness  and  confusion  of  thoughts;  neither  is  this 
to  be  understood  only  of  faithful  counsel,  which  a  man 
receiveth  from  his  friend,  but  before  you  come  to  that,  cer- 
tain it  is,  that  whosoever  hath  his  mind  fraught  with  many 
thoughts,  his  wits  and  understanding  do  clarify  and  break 
up  in  the  communicating  and  discoursing  with  another:  he 
tosseth  his  thoughts  more  easily;  he  marshalleth  them  more 
orderly;  he  seeth  how  they  look  when  they  are  turned  into 
words;  finally,  he  waxeth  wiser  than  himself:  and  that  more 
by  an  hour's  discourse  than  by  a  day's  meditation.  Neither 
is  this  .  .  .  fruit  of  friendship,  in  opening  the  understand- 
ing, restrained  only  by  such  friends  as  are  able  to  give  a  man 
counsel.  They  are  indeed  best;  but,  even  without  that,  a 


278  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

man  learneth  of  himself,  and  bringeth  his  own  thoughts  to 
light,  and  whetteth  his  wits  as  against  a  stone,  which  itself 
cuts  not.  In  a  word,  a  man  were  better  relate  himself  to 
a  statua  or  a  picture,  than  to  suffer  his  thoughts  to  pass  in 
smother."  * 

6.  Mastery  of  Language. — The  choice  of  words  for 
perspicuous  utterance  will  be  more  fully  considered  from 
the  side  of  the  hearer  or  reader ;  here  it  must  be  treated 
as  part  of  the  author's  or  orator's  equipment.  When 
on  his  feet  before  an  audience,  when  striving  to  get 
something  said,  one  can  not  go  scouting  for  words  he 
does  not  know.  The  writer  who  attempts  to  hammer 
out  a  vocabulary  in  stress  of  composition  will  chill  all 
fervor,  eagerness,  and  range  of  thought.  His  writing 
will  have  a  smack  of  artificiality — it  will  "  smell  of  the 
lamp.*'  These  close  researches  of  items  will  pin  him 
down  to  the  little  steps  of  the  grain-pecking  barnyard 
fowl,  in  contrast  with  the  eagle's  soaring,  sweeping 
flight.  The  author  full  of  an  impelling  idea  will  do  best 
to  put  it  down  fast,  even  in  what  he  knows  to  be  inade- 
quate words.  Time  for  revision  can  be  found  or  made, 
but  the  fire  and  glow  and  outreach  of  thought  once 
chilled  can  not  easily,  if  ever,  be  rekindled.  For  the 
time  the  author  is  like  a  soldier  in  battle,  who  must  use 
the  weapons  he  has — ample  cartridges  if  possible ;  if  not, 
the  bayonet,  or  even  the  musket-butt, — to  strike  some- 
how. But  cartridges  and  other  equipment  should  be 
provided  before  the  battle.  Words  must  be  accumulated 
in  such  store  that  they  will  be  snatched  automatically, 
the  speaker  or  writer  being  often  scarcely  aware  of  the 
felicity  of  his  choice,  because  the  words  are  so  habitual 
to  his  thought  that  their  use  seems  as  natural  and  in- 
stinctive as  drawing  breath.  For  the  most  effective  ora- 

*  Bacon :   "Essays,"  On  Friendship. 


OUTFIT    FOR    THE    SPEAKER  279 

torical  or  literary  power,  one  must  have  a  wide  and  rich 
vocabulary  in  actual  possession  and  use,  alive  with  all 
the  most  vivid  associations  of  thought  and  life.  Then  the 
right  word,  according  to  the  familiar  phrase,  will 
' '  spring  to  the  lips. ' '  His  experience  with  words  will  re- 
call what  Webster  said  of  facts,  arguments  and  illustra- 
tions in  his  Reply  to  Hayne:  "Only  to  reach  up,  pluck 
down  a  thunderbolt  and  hurl  it  at-  him. ' ' 

Here  must  be  noted  that  psychological  principle  that 
the  mind  tends  always  to  follow  the  track  of  a  previous 
thought  as  the  line  of  least  resistance.  Words,  once 
used,  have  a  tyranny  over  thought.  Beware  of  ever 
writing  a  poor,  confused,  or  clumsy  sentence,  because 
your  own  words  are  liable  to  dominate  your  thought  in 
what  you  afterward  write. 

Where  repetition  is  detected,  you  will  often  find  some- 
thing behind  the  literary  fault.  You  have  used  that 
word  the  second  time,  not  because  you  wanted  it,  but 
because  you  had  used  it  before,  and  it  has  switched  your 
very  thought  aside,  in  accordance  with  the  psychological 
tendency  of  the  mind  to  follow  the  channel  of  a  previous 
thought.  Seeking  the  non-repetitious  word,  you  get  one 
that  expresses  clearly  the  new  thought,  not  confused  by 
a  dim  echo  of  the  old. 

Every  argument  for  the  attainment  of  a  wide  and 
rich  vocabulary, — every  argument  against  the  mental 
slovenliness  of  slang,— is  an  argument  for  the  possibility 
of  perspicuity.  The  vocabulary  equal  to  all  occasions 
enables  the  speaker  or  writer  to  be  clear  on  every  occa- 
sion. If  the  speaker's  or  writer's  idea  is  clear  to  him- 
self, the  meaning  of  the  words  he  uses  must  also  be  clear 
to  himself.  Otherwise,  with  the  best  intentions,  he  will 
confuse  the  hearer  or  reader. 

7.  Moral  Courage. — it  often  requires  no  small  degree 


280  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

of  courage  to  express  one's  meaning  with  absolute  plain- 
ness. 

It  is  related  of  an  eminent  diplomat  that  on  one  occa- 
sion he  spent  a  long  time  writing,  revising,  and  correct- 
ing an  important  letter,  and  then  submitted  it  to  a  friend 
with  a  request  for  his  opinion  upon  it.  The  friend  read 
and  reread  it,  and  at  length  remarked, ' '  It  is  beautifully 
written  and  seems  very  clear,  but,  if  you  will  pardon 
my  saying  so,  I  cannot  discover  from  it  exactly  what  you 
mean  to  do. "  "  Ah,  thank  you, ' '  exclaimed  the  author, 
"it  is  a  perfect  success,"  and  at  once  signed  and  de- 
spatched it.  That  was  the  result  he  had  labored  for. 
Many  persons  attain  similar  results  without  conscious 
endeavor,  simply  from  the  fear  that  they  may  inadver- 
tently say  just  what  they  mean. 

The  schoolboy  with  a  lesson  imperfectly  learned  stam- 
mers through  an  "er — er"  recitation  in  constant  fear 
that  he  may  fall  into  some  definite  statement,  and  that 
statement  be  wrong.  A  college  student  confessed  to  a 
classmate  that  he  had  great  trouble  in  his  Greek  exer- 
cises to  distinguish  between  the  acute  and  the  grave 
accents,  which  lean  opposite  ways.  His  friend  replied, 
"I  don't.  I  make  them  all  exactly  perpendicular,  and 
the  professor  can't  tell  for  his  life  which  way  I  meant 
them  to  lean."  The  reluctant  witness,  fearing  to  per- 
jure himself,  and  fearing  more  to  tell  the  truth,  equivo- 
cates through  ambiguous  statements  which  he  hopes  can 
not  be  construed  into  exact  affirmation  or  denial  of 
important  matters.  The  preacher,  doubting  some  points 
of  the  accredited  creed  of  his  church,  takes  refuge  in 
misty  platitudes  which  he  trusts  will  neither  explicitly 
affirm  nor  deny.  The  politician,  not  yet  sure  which  way 
the  tide  will  turn,  talks  of  good  government,  the  will 
of  the  people,  the  public  welfare,  in  terms  which  will 


OUTFIT   FOR   THE    SPEAKER  281 

apply  equally  well  to  any  decision.  The  social  reformer, 
who  does  not  want  to  say,  even  to  himself,  ' '  confiscation 
of  property,"  when  a  stout  argument  might  back  him 
up  against  that  wall  involves  the  whole  subject  in  misty 
declamation,  and  escapes  in  nebulous  clouds  of  rhetoric. 

There  are,  indeed,  times  when  prudence,  kindness, 
even  duty,  call  for  an  honorable  reserve,  but  so  far  as 
speech  is  used,  it  finds  its  best  exercise  in  putting  a  sure 
and  definite  meaning  into  unflinching  words. 

The  medieval  Florentine,  Nicholas  Machiavelli,  had 
the  courage  of  his  unscrupulousness,  and  in  his 
"Prince"  advocated  clearly  and  coolly  what  thousands 
of  leaders  have  done  under  euphemistic  names.  Macau- 
lay  says  of  him,  that  ''His  only  fault  was  that,  having 
adopted  some  of  the  maxims  then  generally  received, 
he  arranged  them  more  luminously,  and  expressed  them 
more  forcibly  than  any  other  writer." 

For  this  he  has  been  execrated  by  the  mass  of  men 
until 

"Out  of  his  surname  they  have  coined  an  epithet  for  a 
knave,  and  out  of  his  Christian  name  a  synonym  for  the 
Devil." 

Yet,  even  so,  he  did  better  than  he  would  have  done 
through  vagueness  or  obscurity  with  the  same  underlying 
motive.  There  the  vices  stand,  pilloried  for  all  time. 
The  frank  and  avowed  opponents  of  truth  and  right 
have  often  rendered  it  unintended  service.  Men  seeing 
just  what  they  mean  have  declared,  "This  is  what  we 
will  not  have. "  It  is  not  the  evil  boldly  outspoken,  but 
the  evil  deliberately  veiled,  that  is  dangerous. 

The  frank,  transparent  statement  of  an  intolerable 
conclusion  often  rescues  the  author  himself.  He  says, 
' '  My  reasoning  leads  up  to  this ;  but  this  is  abominable. 


282  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

There  must  be  a  flaw  in  the  argument  that  necessitates 
such  a  result, ' '  and  he  studies  back  till  he  finds  the  error. 
It  is  doubtful  whether  Benedict  Arnold  could  have  per- 
severed in  his  course,  if  he  had  called  every  act  by  its 
right  name:  if  he  had  frankly  said  to  himself,  "This  is 
downright  treachery.  I  am  about  to  betray  my  people, 
my  commander  and  my  comrades  in  arms,  who  have 
trusted  me  and  faced  death  at  my  side.  If  I  succeed  I 
shall  send  the  Continental  armies  to  defeat  and  the  lead- 
ers to  the  scaffold.  I  shall  smirch  my  own  military 
record,  by  an  action  which  no  soldier  ever  forgives. 
Even  if  the  British  win,  they  will  scorn  the  traitor  who 
gave  them  the  victory."  All  his  cherished  grievances 
would  have  seemed  infinitesimally  petty,  and  all  prom- 
ised rewards  worthless  and  mean  before  the  clear  state- 
ment of  what  his  action  meant. 

Thus  perspicuity  is  far  more  than  a  convenience  or 
beauty  of  style.  In  its  fullest  exercise  it  is  the  out- 
speaking of  a  brave  and  resolute  spirit,  and  so  is  strong. 

What  gives  his  special  power  to  the  desperate  man? 
Absolute  clear  thinking.  He  has  decided  what  he  must 
and  will  have  at  any  cost.  He  has  canvassed  all  possi- 
bilities affecting  himself.  Wounds,  death,  prison,  dis- 
honor, all  are  nothing  in  his  thought.  He  has  canvassed 
all  that  his  action  may  bring  to  his  antagonist.  Pain, 
distress,  poverty,  hardship,  death,  of  his  intended  victim 
are  nothing  in  the  assailant's  thought.  He  is  deaf  to 
argument  or  entreaty,  for  he  has  discounted  all  restrain- 
ing motives,  and  put  them  out  of  consideration.  He  will 
take  the  maddest  chances,  because  they  can  bring  him 
nothing  but  what  he  is  ready  to  meet. 

The  same  qualities  appear  in  nobler  exercise.  The 
"six  hundred"  of  the  Light  Brigade  receive  the  fatal 
order,  form  without  an  instant's  hesitation  in  battle 


OUTFIT    FOR   THE    SPEAKER  283 

array,  the  commander,  as  he  rides  to  their  head,  saying 
to  a  friend  whom  he  passes,  "Here  goes  the  last  of  the 
Cardigans !"  Their  minds  had  been  made  up  long  before 
to  all  that  the  day  could  bring,  and  their  clear  answer 
to  the  command  was  instant  action.  These  qualities 
were  displayed  by  Washington  when,  touched  by  the 
sufferings  of  Boston  resulting  from  the  enforcement  of 
the  Boston  Port  Bill,  he  exclaimed  (at  the  provincial 
convention  at  Williamsburg,  August  1,  1774)  :  "I  will 
raise  a  thousand  men,  subsist  them  at  my  own  expense, 
and  march  with  them  at  their  head  for  the  relief  of 
Boston."  The  men  of  the  Continental  Congress,  with 
the  Declaration  of  Independence  before  them,  had  fore- 
cast all  it  might  involve  when  they  signed  their  names 
under  the  words,  "And,  for  the  support  of  this  Declara- 
tion, with  a  firm  reliance  on  the  protection  of  Divine 
Providence,  we  mutually  pledge  to  each  other  our  lives, 
our  fortunes,  and  our  sacred  honor." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

CLEARNESS  OF  STYLE— II 
AS   SECURED    BY    FITTING   CHOICE    OF   WORDS 

Whatever  mystic  value  there  might  be  in  an  expres- 
sion of  thought  understood  only  by  the  mind  that  origi- 
nated it,  such  an  expression  would  be  rhetorically  worth- 
less. Rhetoric  has  been  well  defined  as:  "The  art  of 
perfecting  man's  power  of  communicating  to  others  his 
mental  acts  or  states  by  means  of  language. ' '  In  rhetor- 
ical estimate,  the  sole  object  of  speaking  or  writing  is, — 
not  that  thought  may  exist, — but  that  it  may  be  con- 
veyed or  communicated  to  others.  "Communicate"  is 
from  the  Latin  communis,  "common",  and  signifies  to 
make  something  the  common  property  of  two  or  more 
persons.  In  thought  or  speech,  without  the  union  of  two 
or  more  minds,  there  is  no  "communication."  If  one 
could  have  the  mental  vision  of  a  star-eyed  angel,  he 
would  be  helpless  to  "communicate"  anything  to  men 
by  speech  unless  he  could  use  some  language  that  men 
could  understand.  Perspicuity  begins  in  the  clear 
thought  of  orator  or  author,  but  does  not  become  an 
accomplished  fact  till  the  same  thought  illuminates  the 
mind  of  hearer  or  reader  with  equal  clearness.  The 
supreme  test  of  success  in  reaching  men  by  speech  is  not 
what  you  give,  but  what  they  receive.  Whatever  you 
may  offer,  you  really  give  them  only  what  they  get.  So 
Tennyson  opens  his  "Day  Dream"  with  the  question, 

"But  would  you  have  the  thought  I  had. 
And  see  the  vision  that  I  saw  ?" 

284 


FITTING    CHOICE    OF   WORDS  285 

"The  thought  I  had"  is  but  one  pier  of  a  bridge,  from 
which  the  fairest  structure  stretches  out  over  empty 
space,  unless  and  until  it  reaches  a  support  on  the 
farther  shore  in  the  receiving  mind.  Of  what  shall  that 
be  built?  Of  intelligible  words  joined  in  fitting  con- 
struction, so  that  each  shall  help  to  convey  the  meaning 
of  all. 

Intelligible  Words. — There  are,  indeed,  ways  of 
expressing  one's  meaning  otherwise  than  by  words,  as 
by  looks  and  tones,  which  are  often  profoundly  signifi- 
cant. Yet  these  are  always  more  or  less  vague,  as 
appears  from  the  fact  that  one  will  be  aware  that  an- 
other is  angry,  but  study  long  to  guess  what  displeased 
him,  and  at  last  very  likely  guess  wrong.  It  is  beyond 
a  doubt  that  looks  and  tones  greatly  help  the  impression 
of  spoken  words,  whether  in  oratory  or  in  common 
speech,  so  that  many  things  are  well  understood  that 
are  very  ill  uttered,  and  many  sentences  that  are  never 
finished.  Something  may  be  done  by  expressive  signs, 
as  of  the  finger  on  the  lips  to  indicate  silence.  But  one 
needs  only  to  deal  with  persons  of  whose  language  he 
knows  absolutely  nothing  to  convince  himself  how  very 
little  way  this  sign-language,  by  itself,  will  carry  him. 
The  ultimate  reliance  must  be  upon  the  spoken  or  writ- 
ten word,  and  each  word  must  be  understood  in  the  same 
sense  by  the  one  who  uses  and  by  the  one  who  hears 
or  reads  it. 

Since  expression  is  chiefly  by  use  of  words,  one  who 
has  but  an  imperfect  command  of  words  can  not  attain 
more  than  imperfect  expression,  however  clear  the  ideas 
he  may  have  to  express.  Thus  a  Japanese  student  ap- 
pended to  a  set  of  examination-papers  the  following 
note  to  his  teacher: 


286  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

"I  sent  the  answer  to  the  second  problem  in  this  lesson 
in  double,  as  I  couldn't  clear  my  mind  of  which  is  the  better. 
Will  you  kindly  pass  your  sight  through  them  ?" 

He  knew,  and  we  know,  what  he  meant,  yet  the  effect 
of  the  whole  is  queer  and  confusing.  "We  must  translate 
the  sentences  to  ourselves  before  we  quite  apprehend 
their  meaning.  "In  double"  may  be  a  Japanese  idiom, 
but  is  not  an  English  idiom.  We  are  not  quite  sure 
what  is  meant  till  we  put  it  into  other  words.  He  could 
not  have  written  "in  duplicate,"  for  he  did  not  mean 
that.  The  two  solutions  were  not  duplicates,  for  they 
were  not  alike.  The  very  simplest  expression  would  have 
been  "in  two  forms,"  from  which  one  gets  the  meaning 
without  a  second  thought. 

' '  Could  not  clear  my  mind  of  which  is  the  better, '  *  is 
very  blind.  It  gives  us  an  idea,  but  an  idea  confused 
and  dim.  He  might  have  written,  "make  clear  to  my 
mind, "  or  he  might  have  used  the  shorter  phrase,  ' '  sat- 
isfy my  mind,"  or — better — "satisfy  myself."  "Pass 
your  sight  through  them"  is  intelligible,  but  queer,  and 
its  oddity  checks  and  hinders  thought,  while  we  put  it 
into  familiar  words,  "glance  through  (or  over)  them." 

How  many  supposedly  familiar  English  words  are  ill- 
understood  by  persons  of  limited  education  is  shown  in 
Mark  Twain's  "English  as  She  Is  Taught,"  which  is 
full  of  gems  taken  (he  assures  us)  from  the  examination 
papers  of  school-children.  Thus:  "The  men  employed 
by  the  Gas  Company  go  around  and  speculate  the 
meter."  On  which  Mark  comments:  "Indeed  they  do, 
dear ;  and  when  you  grow  up,  many  and  many 's  the  time 
you  will  notice  it  in  the  gas  bill."  To  that  ingenuous 
youth  "inspect"  was  an  incomprehensible  word,  and 
"speculate"  equally  ill-understood,  but  somewhat  more 
familiar.  In  the  remark,  "Holmes  is  a  very  profligate 


FITTING    CHOICE    OF   WORDS  287 

and  amusing  writer,"  evidently  the  two  words  "profli- 
gate" and  "prolific"  were  both  blind  alleys  to  that 
child. 

In  "The  Middle  Ages  comes  between  antiquity  and 
posterity, ' '  the  only  idea  that  young  writer  had  of  ' '  an- 
tiquity" was  that  it  was  very  far  in  the  past;  and  the 
only  idea  of  "posterity"  that  it  was  very  far  in  the 
future.  The  "Middle  Ages"  were  somewhere  within 
that  vast  gulf  of  time.  To  these  specimens  Mark  Twain 
adds  a  set  of  definitions,  evidently  euphonic: 

Amenable,  anything  that  is  mean. 

Assiduity,  state  of  being  an  acid. 

Auriferous,  pertaining  to  an  orifice.  (We  can  see  inci- 
dentally how  that  pupil  pronounced  "orifice.") 

Ammonia,  the  food  of  the  gods  (evidently  ambrosia). 

Parasite,  a  kind  of  umbrella. 

Plagiarist,  a  writer  of  plays. 

Sibilant,  the  state  of  being  idiotic  (probably  by  association 
with  "silly"). 

Mendacious,  what  can  be  mended. 

See  what  idea  such  defmers  would  get  if  a  pastor  should 
speak  of  being  ' '  amenable  to  justice, "  or  "  working  with 
assiduity " ;  if  he  should  dwell  upon  the  unworthiness  of 
' '  living  as  a  parasite, ' '  or  refer  to  some  story  as  a  "  men- 
dacious narrative. ' '  Then  we  are  informed  that :  ' '  Ire- 
land is  called  the  Emigrant  Isle,  because  it  is  so  beauti- 
ful and  green."  It  would  be  of  no  use  to  talk  to  that 
boy  about  "emeralds"  or  "emerald  green." 

It  is  related  that  an  English  clergyman  was  taken  to 
task  by  a  brother  minister  for  "preaching  over  the 
heads  of  the  people"  by  using  difficult  words.  "What 
word  did  I  use  yesterday,"  he  inquired,  "that  would  not 
be  understood  by  everybody?"  "Well,  for  one  thing, 
you  spoke  of  felicity,  when  you  should  have  said  happi- 


288  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

ness."  "Everybody  knows  what  felicity  means,"  was 
the  answer.  "Very  well,"  said  the  critic,  "we  will  try 
it  on  the  first  man  we  meet."  The  first  man  was  a 
farmer.  ' '  Can  you  tell  me,  my  friend, ' '  asked  the  clergy- 
man, "what  felicity  is?"  "Well,"  replied  the  farmer, 
thoughtfully,  ' '  I  know  it 's  something  inside  of  a  pig,  but 
I  can't  tell  exactly  what."  The  English  farmer  has 
American  compeers.  The  lecture  containing  this  anec- 
dote was  taken  in  shorthand  by  a  reporter  in  one  of  our 
leading  cities,  and  when  the  typewritten  transcript  came 
to  me,  the  word  felicity,  each  time  it  occurred,  was 
spelled  "  phillisity. "  The  very  joke  was  lost  upon  the 
man  who  reported  it. 

On  another  occasion  I  dictated  to  a  seemingly  intelli- 
gent young  lady  stenographer  a  letter  on  the  importance 
of  accuracy,  and  when  her  beautiful  typewritten  sheets 
were  handed  me,  I  found  the  key-word,  wherever  it 
occurred,  given  as  ' '  accerisy. ' '  Unquestionably  many  a 
public  speaker  loses  his  audience,  and  many  an  author 
his  readers,  for  want  of  knowing  how  difficult  many 
words  may  be  to  them,  which  seem  to  him  simple  and 
easy.  How  a  scholarly  man  may  fail  to  attain  simplicity 
when  earnestly  seeking  it,  is  amusingly  shown  in  the 
following  statement  which  appears  in  the  preface  of 
William  James's  "Talks  to  Teachers  on  Psychology": 

"I  have  found  by  experience  that  what  my  hearers  seem 
least  to  relish  is  analytical  technicality,  and  what  they  most 
care  for  is  concrete  practical  application.  So  I  have  gradu- 
ally weeded  out  the  former  and  left  the  latter  unreduced; 
and  now,  that  I  have  at  last  written  out  the  lectures,  they 
contain  a  minimum  of  what  is  deemed  'scientific'  in  psy- 
chology, and  are  practical  and  popular  in  the  extreme." 

Here  the  professor  is  trying  his  utmost  to  use  "prac- 
tical and  popular"  language,  and  believes  that  he  has 


FITTING    CHOICE    OP   WORDS  289 

done  so.  Yet  in  his  very  announcement  of  this  purpose 
he  speaks  of  "minimum"  "analytical  technicality"  and 
' '  concrete  practical  application ' '  among  which  the  aver- 
age reader  would  be  hopelessly  lost.  It  should  be  noted, 
indeed,  that  he  was  speaking  to  teachers,  who  would  not 
find  these  words  so  difficult;  but  it  seems  quite  evident 
that  he  really  thought  the  whole  utterance  severely  sim- 
ple. Hence,  Archbishop  Whately,  in  his  "Elements  of 
Rhetoric, ' '  gives  the  following  wise  caution : 

"Universally,  indeed,  an  unpracticed  writer  is  apt  to  be 
misled  by  his  own  knowledge  of  his  own  meaning  into  sup- 
posing those  expressions  clearly  intelligible  which  are  so  to 
himself,  but  which  may  not  be  so  to  readers  whose  thoughts 
are  not  in  the  same  train.  And  hence  it  is  that  some  do  not 
write  or  speak  with  so  much  perspicuity  on  a  subject  which 
has  long  been  very  familiar  to  them,  as  on  one  which  they 
understand,  indeed,  but  with  which  they  are  less  intimately 
acquainted,  and  in  which  their  knowledge  has  been  more 
recently  acquired.  In  the  former  case,  it  is  a  matter  of  some 
difficulty  to  keep  in  mind  the  necessity  of  carefully  and 
copiously  explaining  principles  which  by  long  habit  have 
come  to  assume  in  their  minds  tbe  appearance  of  self-evident 
truths.  Utterly  incorrect,  therefore,  is  Blair's  notion  that 
obscurity  of  style  necessarily  springs  from  indistinctness  of 
conception.  A  little  conversation  on  nautical  affairs  with 
sailors  or  on  agriculture  with  farmers,  would  soon  have  unde- 
ceived him." 

One  who  would  ' '  communicate ' '  thought  must  be  able 
to  think  from  the  hearer's  or  reader's  side,  and  to 
express  his  thought  in  words  that  the  hearer  or  reader 
will  readily  understand.  So  it  has  been  many  times 
found  in  colleges  that  an  eminent  scholar  is  a  failure  in 
the  attempt  to  teach  the  younger  students.  He  has  so 
long  ceased  to  be  aware  of  their  difficulties  and  per- 
plexities that  he  cannot  even  imagine  what  they  are, 
while  some  young  tutor,  just  out  of  college  himself,  can 


290  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

appreciate  them  all,  and  lead  the  immature  minds  better 
than  the  great  man  who  has  passed  entirely  out  of  sym- 
pathy with  them.  Over  and  over  in  a  thousand  ways 
the  demonstration  is  reiterated  that  he  who  would  influ- 
^ence  men  must  know  men. 

On  the  other  hand,  a  very  scholarly  speaker  or  writer 
may  fail  by  using  words  so  remote  from  common  speech 
as  not  to  be  understood  without  painful  effort.  Thus  a 
very  learned  writer  on  English  grammar,  in  attempting 
to  explain  whether  or  not  the  superlative  may  be  used 
of  two  objects; — whether,  for  instance,  we  shall  say, 
"This  is  the  best  of  the  two" — quotes  Shakespeare  as 
writing  ' '  the  best  half, ' '  and  Thackeray  as  saying,  ' '  her 
mother  seemed  the  youngest  of  the  two, ' '  and  then  adds 
this  illuminating  comment : 

"However  natural  and  usual  the  comparative  is  in  such 
cases,  the  superlative  is  not  absurd,  in  which  the  duality  is 
disregarded,  and  the  object  attributively  determined  is  de- 
noted as  affected  with  the  quality  in  the  highest  degree  in 
the  class,  which  is  treated  as  numerically  indifferent."  * 

Do  you  get  any  definite  idea  of  the  meaning  of  that  sen- 
tence at  first  reading?  Do  you  get  any  clear  idea  at 
second  reading?  Do  you  not  have  still  to  flounder  with 
"duality  disregarded,"  "object  attributively  deter- 
mined," "affected  with  the  quality,"  and  "treated  as 
numerically  indifferent?"  What  the  writer  meant  to 
say  was:  "The  superlative  indicates  an  object  as  at  the 
head  of  its  class  or  group.  But  two  objects  may  consti- 
tute a  class  or  group,  and  one  of  the  two  may  be  thought 
of  as  surpassing  all  else  in  that  class  or  group,  without 
any  reference  to  the  number  of  objects  included,  whether 
two  or  more  than  two;  and  thus  we  may  properly  say 


Maetzner :  "English  Grammar,"  Vol.  iii,  p.  285. 


FITTING    CHOICE    OF   WORDS  291 

'the  best  of  the  two'."  That  statement,  I  take  it,  any- 
one can  understand. 

Technical  Language.  Some  of  the  books  give  as  a 
primary  rule,  ' '  Avoid  technical  language. ' '  But,  if  you 
are  addressing  a  technical  audience,  technical  language 
is  the  very  most  intelligible  that  can  be  employed.  Tort, 
for  instance,  has  for  the  lawyer  a  definite  meaning, 
which  is  somewhat  diffused  and  scattered  in  the  phrase, 
"a  civil  or  private  injury."  So  everywhere  among 
technical  workers,  the  established  terms  of  their  science, 
art,  or  craft  are  more  definite,  more  concise  and  more 
readily  comprehensible  than  any  popular  equivalents 
that  can  be  found  for  them.  A  lawyer  addressing  the 
Supreme  Court  will  be  perspicuous  by  using  the  most 
recondite  legal  terms,  if  he  but  uses  each  word  in  its 
exact  legal  sense ;  he  will  be  more  perspicuous  than  by  the 
use  of  popular  language,  because  each  of  those  legal 
terms  has  one,  and  but  one,  definite  meaning.  Each 
such  term  is  ordinarily  briefer  and  more  compact  than 
any  popular  equivalent,  and  so  enables  the  mind  to  move 
more  swiftly  and  surely  to  a  conclusion.  But  that  same 
counsel  in  addressing  a  jury  drawn  from  among  the 
"plain  people"  will  take  pains  to  speak  in  common  and 
popular  language,  and  if  obliged  to  use  a  technical  legal 
term,  will  carefully  define  and  explain  it  in  the  forms 
of  common  speech. 

In  addressing  readers  or  hearers  of  a  distinctly  liter- 
ary or  scholarly  type,  literary  and  scholarly  terms  are 
best.  More  can  be  packed  into  those  terms,  and  more 
effectively,  than  into  any  words  of  common  speech.  Such 
speaking  or  writing  has  a  high  and  worthy  place,  but 
in  every  case  its  field  is  limited.  Let  us  take,  now,  some 
examples  of  readily  comprehended  utterance.  "We  start 
with  that  downright  saying  of  Dr.  Johnson:  "Being  in 


292  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

a  ship  is  being  in  a  jail,  with  the  chance  of  being 
drowned."  No  man  ever  had  to  read  that  statement 
twice  in  order  to  know  what  it  meant.  We  understand 
it  without  a  second  thought;  the  remarkable  thing  is 
that  the  old  Doctor  contrived  to  give,  not  only  his 
opinion,  but  his  feeling  about  seafaring,  in  those  few 
blunt,  rugged  words.  A  very  different  opinion  and 
feeling  is  stated  more  elegantly  in  the  quotations  that 
follow : 

"There  the  sea  I  found 
Calm  as  a  cradled  child  in  dreamless  slumber  bound." 

—SHELLEY  :   "The  Revolt  of  Islam." 

"A  life  on  the  ocean  wave ! 

A  home  on  the  rolling  deep ; 
Where  the  scattered  waters  rave, 
And  the  winds  their  revels  keep !" 

— EPES  SARGENT. 

"O'er  the  glad  waters  of  the  dark  blue  sea, 
Our  hearts  as  boundless,  and  our  souls  as  free, 
Far  as  the  breeze  can  bear,  the  billows  foam, 
Survey  our  empire  and  behold  our  home." 

—BYRON:  "The  Corsair,"  Can.  i,  St.  1. 

Here  every  word  is  simple,  while  the  very  swell  and 
surge  of  the  ocean  are  in  the  stirring  lines.  Out  of 
thirty-four  words,  there  is  not  one  of  more  than  two 
syllables,  while  twenty-eight  are  monosyllables.  Ele- 
gance, rhythm,  splendor  are  not  barriers  to  perspicuity. 
Let  us  now  consider  a  miscellaneous  group  that  are  at 
once  perspicuous,  vigorous,  and  effective: 

"God  grants  liberty  only  to  those  who  love  it,  and  are 
always  ready  to  defend  it." 

— DANIEL  WEBSTER:  Speech,  June  3,  1834. 

"Life  is  not  so  short  but  that  there  is  always  time  enough 
for  courtesy." — EMERSON  :  "Social  Aims." 


FITTING   CHOICE    OP   WORDS  293 

"Let  us  have  faith  that  Right  makes  Might,  and  in  that 
faith  let  us  to  the  end  dare  to  do  our  duty  as  we  understand 
it."  —  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN:  Address,  New  York  City,  Feb.  21, 
1859. 

Equal  clearness  may  be  attained  in  more  extended 
statements.  Thus  : 

"I  had  rather  believe  all  the  fables  in  the  Legend,  and  the 
Talmud,  and  the  Alcoran,  than  that  this  universal  frame  is 
without  a  mind."  —  BACON:  "Of  Atheism." 

"He  that  seeketh  to  be  eminent  among  able  men  hath  a 
great  task,  but  that  is  ever  good  for  the  public." 

—BACON  :  "Of  Ambition." 

"Nature  is  often  hidden,  sometimes  overcome,  seldom  extin- 
guished." —  BACON:  "Of  Nature  in  Men." 

"To  be  conscious  that  you  are  ignorant  is  a  great  step  to 
knowledge."—  BENJ.  DISRAELI  :  "Sybil,"  Bk.  i,  Ch.  5. 

"There  is  no  knowledge  that  is  not  power." 

—EMERSON:  "Society  and  Solitude,"  "Old  Age." 

"Nothing  except  a  battle  lost  can  be  half  so  melancholy  as 
a  battle  won."  —  DUKE  OF  WELLINGTON  :  Despatch,  1815. 

''There  is  always  hope  when  people  are  forced  to  listen  to 
both  sides."—  MILL  :  "On  Liberty." 

"The  reward  of  one  duty  is  the  power  to  fulfil  another." 
—GEORGE  ELIOT  :  "Daniel  Deronda,"  Bk.  vi,  Ch.  46. 

"The  rich  and  the  poor  meet  together:  the  Lord  is  the 
maker  of  them  all."  —  Proverbs  xxii,  2. 


"Character  is  higher  than  intellect.  ...  A  great  soul 
be  strong  to  live,  as  well  as  to  think." 

—  EMERSON:  "The  American  Scholar." 

"It  never  frightened  a  Puritan  when  you  bade  him  stand 
still  and  listen  to  the  speech  of  God.  His  closet  and  his 
church  were  full  of  the  reverberations  of  the  awful,  gracious, 
beautiful  voice  for  which  he  listened." 

—  PHILLIPS  BROOKS'  Sermons  :  "The  Seriousness  of  Life" 


294  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

Greatness  of  thought  is  no  bar  to  perspicuity,  nor  is 
beauty  of  expression  a  hindrance.  We  may  apply  to 
style  what  Hare,  in  "Guesses  at  Truth,"  said  of  truth 
and  manhood:  "The  greatest  truths  are  the  simplest: 
and  so  are  the  greatest  men. ' ' 

These  quotations  are  from  authors  in  poetry  and  in 
prose,  covering  numerous  departments  of  English  liter- 
ature, but  all  characterized  by  instant  intelligibility. 
What  one  element  is  the  same  in  all  ?  The  answer  is,  the 
use  of  words  which  are  understandable  by  the  average 
reader  without  a  pause  of  thought. 

The  predominance  of  short  words — monosyllables  or 
dissyllables — has  been  noted  in  a  number  of  these  quo- 
tations, and  will  be  found  to  characterize  them  all.  This 
shortness  of  words  is  characteristic  of  the  Anglo-Saxon, 
and  analysis  will  show  that  the  words  in  the  selections 
above  given  are  predominantly  Anglo-Saxon.  Hence, 
some  have  given  as  a  rule  for  perspicuity,  use  Anglo- 
Saxon  words.  But  this  rule,  while  founded  on  a  sound 
distinction,  is  practically  useless,  because  few  persons 
can  tell  what  words  are  Anglo-Saxon,  without  looking 
them  up  one  by  one  in  the  dictionary.  Such  etymolog- 
ical work  is  prohibitive;  it  would  destroy  all  freedom 
and  naturalness  in  speech  or  writing,  and  would  make 
any  extended  composition  impossible.  Most  persons,  if 
suddenly  asked,  would  say  that  air,  face,  form,  part, 
sense,  and  sound  are  "good  old  Anglo-Saxon  words." 
But  "air"  is  from  the  Greek  and  all  the  others  from  the 
Latin.  Words  of  this  type  are  very  numerous. 

The  following  nouns,  adjectives,  and  verbs  belong  to 
the  Latin: — (Nouns)  age,  art,  cap,  case,  cent,  chance, 
cost,  crust,  face,  fact,  faulty,  form,  ink,  line,  mile,  min- 
ute, noise,  noon,  page,  pain,  pair,  pane,  part,  peace,  pen, 
piece,  point,  pound,  price,  rule,  second,  sense,  soil,  sound, 


FITTING    CHOICE    OF   WORDS  295 

ton,  tone,  and  vail;  (Adjectives)  able,  apt,  chief,  clear, 
common,  cross,  crude,  easy,  feeble,  firm,  frail,  gentle, 
grand,  grave,  human,  just,  large,  lazy,  mere,  nice,  pale, 
plain,  poor,  pure,  rare,  rich,  round,  safe,  scarce,  several, 
simple,  square,  sure,  vain,  vast,  and  various;  (Verbs) 
add,  aid,  aim,  arm,  bate,  bet,  boil,  cure,  charge,  class, 
close,  cook,  doubt,  fail,  fix,  fry,  judge,  mix,  move,  pass, 
pay,  pelt,  save,  serve,  sort,  strain,  stray,  study,  train, 
try,  turn,  and  use* 

This  list  might  be  greatly  extended.  Thus  we  might 
add  account,  air,  amount,  carry,  cell,  channel,  count, 
fade,  fatal,  fate,  fence,  money,  number,  polite,  proper, 
property,  quantity,  report,  scarce,  story,  sum,  term,  test, 
vacant,  verb,  and  numerous  other  familiar  words,  de- 
rived from  the  Latin  (in  many  cases  through  the 
French). 

These  words  have  all  the  ear-marks  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon.  They  are  short,  strong,  easy  to  utter  and  re- 
member; they  deal  with  well-known  matters,  or  acts  of 
common  life,  and  in  use  are  familiar  to  the  majority  of 
people.  Every  child  knows  the  meaning  of  air,  cap, 
carry,  cent,  count,  easy,  modest,  money,  more,  polite, 
poor,  rich,  save,  sense,  story.  Every  person  who  has  had 
even  a  little  schooling  knows  all  those  above  given. 

Why,  then,  are  not  these  words  just  as  good  as  the 
Anglo-Saxon?  The  answer  is  that  they  are.  There  is 
nothing  sacred  in  etymology.  It  is  an  interesting  and 
valuable  study,  but  is  not  to  be  a  limitation  upon  the 
movement  and  freedom  of  language.  The  Anglo-Saxons 
and  the  early  Englishmen,  when  they  adopted  a  word 
from  another  language,  smashed  the  shell  of  etymology, 
and  shaped  that  word  to  the  type  of  their  own  speech. 


*Brainerd  Kellogg:  "Text-Book  on  Rhetoric,"  p.  291. 


296  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

What  they  took  over,  they  also  made  over.  All  trace 
of  their  origin  lost,  such  words  were  molded  to  the 
Anglo-Saxon  type.  It  is  our  best  way  to  use  them  for 
what  they  are,  with  no  curious  desire  to  know  whence 
they  came.  We  may  be  confident  that  words  of  the 
Anglo-Saxon  type  will  be  always  and  everywhere  intel- 
ligible among  English-speaking  people.  They  are  the 
words  of  house,  hearth,  and  home,  of  field,  farm,  and 
garden,  of  the  shop  and  the  camp  and  the  forest  and  the 
sea — words  that  can  be  understood  always  and  every- 
where without  a  pause  of  thought.  Hence  the  rule  is 
simple.  To  reach  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  human 
beings,  young  and  old,  rich  and  poor,  learned  and  igno- 
rant, men,  women  and  children,  use  the  words  of  com- 
mon life. 

The  quotations  already  given  show  how  wide  is  the 
scope  and  how  high  the  reach  of  such  words  when  fit- 
tingly combined.  It  is  wonderful  what  loftiness  of 
thought,  what  depth  of  feeling  may  be  so  expressed. 

The  art  of  speaking  to  children  is  chiefly  dependent 
on  skilful  choice  of  words.  The  words  they  use  are 
chiefly  monosyllables,  or  other  short  words  denoting 
common  objects  or  simple  thoughts  and  feelings.  Some 
speakers  go  off  into  an  unintelligible  discourse  by  using 
learned  words  for  little  people.  On  one  occasion  a 
speaker,  in  addressing  a  company  of  children,  had  occa- 
sion to  use  the  word  epitome,  and  then  said:  "It  may 
be,  children,  that  some  of  you  do  not  know  what  epitome 
means.  Well,  children,  an  epitome  is  a  compendium,  and 
compendium  is  synonymous  with  synopsis."  On  the 
other  hand,  certain  speakers  try  to  be  so  simple  that 
they  talk  for  babies  and  give  the  children  petty  ideas 
which  they  despise.  The  child  regards  such  talk  as  an 
insult  to  his  intelligence,  and  says:  "Does  he  think  we 


FITTING    CHOICE    OF   WORDS  297 

don't  know  that?"  Then  you  have  lost  the  child's 
attention  by  losing  his  respect. 

The  fact  is,  that  children  do  a  startling  amount  of 
deep  thinking  on  the  most  tremendous  themes.  They 
are  restrained  by  no  conventionalities,  they  reduce 
everything  to  the  concrete,  and  they  expect  a  definite 
and  final  explanation  of  every  problem.  Hence,  the  rule 
for  addressing  children  is,  use  plain  and  simple  words. 
Then  you  may  give  the  most  lofty  and  beautiful  thought 
you  can  attain,  and  often  be  taxed  to  keep  up  with  their 
quick,  fearless  intellects. 

Whoever  will  do  this,  will  make  another  discovery, 
namely:  that  when  he  really  interests  the  children,  he 
holds  the  grown  people  without  an  effort.  The  most 
scholarly  part  of  the  audience  will  listen  with  delight  if 
the  thoughts,  as  well  as  the  words,  are  worthy  of  the 
children.  We  have  not  grown  so  far  away  from  them 
as  we  are  wont  to  imagine. 

Incidentally  it  will  be  found  exceedingly  difficult  to 
hide  pompous  nonsense  or  ingenious  sophistry  in  words 
that  children  can  readily  understand. 

Yet,  in  choosing  the  common,  avoid  the  commonplace. 
Words  are  quite  sure  to  carry  some  flavor  of  their  origi- 
nal use.  Some  never  cease  to  be  prosaic,  some  coarse 
and  rude,  and  can  have  place  only  when  necessity  com- 
pels. A  discriminating  good  taste  is  especially  necessary 
in  the  use  of  the  plain,  simple,  common  words,  because 
they  are  so  very  direct  and  downright  that  if  they  are 
feeble  or  rude,  they  are  so  without  disguise.  But  just 
because  of  this  directness,  it  will  generally  be  found 
that  a  lofty,  noble,  or  worthy  thought  will  attract  to 
itself  plain  words  fitted  for  its  expression,  while  an  unfit 
word  will  so  jar  on  the  consciousness  as  to  be  instinct- 
ively rejected.  Wordsworth's  error  in  his  early  poems 


298  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

when  he  thought  to  make  poetry  "simple"  by  writing 
about  idiots,  beggars,  donkeys,  and  washtubs,  was  in  the 
choice,  not  of  words,  but  of  subjects  which  could  not  be 
made  poetic. 

Let  no  one  suppose  that  in  order  to  win  or  influence 
children  or  "the  plain,  ordinary  people,"  he  must  de- 
scend to  their  habitual  mode  of  speech.  The  power  of 
understanding  language  is  always  in  advance  of  the 
power  of  using  it.  The  little  child,  with  not  twenty 
words  in  his  vocabulary,  understands  a  large  part  of 
what  father  or  mother  says  to  him.  Every  great  ora- 
tion or  poem  is  followed  with  delight  by  persons  who 
could  not  have  constructed  a  sentence  of  it.  We  have 
all  an  ideal  of  utterance  far  beyond  what  we  attain. 
Nobler  or  fairer  words  and  phrases  lie  quiescent  in  our 
minds,  not  near  enough  to  our  ordinary  needs,  not  vivid 
enough  in  association,  to  be  often  called  into  action.  But 
when  some  master  of  language  brings  them  fittingly 
before  us  as  the  investiture  of  some  worthy  or  lofty 
thought,  we  recognize  them  joyfully.  He  is  a  benefactor 
who  can  give  life  and  breath  to  our  dim  ideals,  and  make 
them  real  on  the  earth  for  us.  In  one  who  can  express 
even  our  own  very  thoughts  better  than  we  could  utter 
them  we  recognize  an  element  of  leadership  and  mastery. 

Hence  to  reach  those  addressed,  let  the  speaker  or 
writer  give  them,  not  the  words  they  would  ordinarily 
use,  but  the  best  words  they  are  able  to  comprehend. 
Such  language  will  be  not  less,  but  more  intelligible,  for 
the  effort  to  follow  that  better  diction  is  intellectual 
stimulus,  and  the  aroused  attention  will  grasp  the 
thought  so  uttered  with  an  ease  and  readiness  which 
sluggish  indifference  could  never  attain.  Go  before  your 
hearers  or  readers,  but  not  so  far  before  as  to  be  out  of 
touch  with  them,  causing  them  to  lose  their  guide.  Go 


FITTING    CHOICE    OF   WORDS  299 

far  enough  in  advance  to  be  their  leader,  but  not  so  far 
that  they  cannot  follow. 

There  is  not  only  a  range  of  words  but  a  world  of 
thought  not  within  the  cognizance  of  children,  and  its 
expression  demands  words  that  are  not  in  their  vocabu- 
lary. There  is  a  larger,  loftier,  and  more  varied  life 
than  is  lived  by  the  mass  of  men,  and  words  beyond  their 
ordinary  use  are  needed  for  its  expression.  The  world 
has  long  since  outgrown  the  Anglo-Saxon  vocabulary. 
Those  substantial  old  words  give  meaning  in  solid  blocks, 
where  modern  thought  needs  fine  discriminations.  The 
advance  of  science,  invention,  and  mechanism  has 
brought  in  wholly  new  objects  and  relations  for  which 
we  need  words  that  the  Old  English  stock  can  not  sup- 
ply. It  has  become  the  habit  of  our  language  to  draw 
these  added  words  directly  from  the  Latin  or  Greek,  or 
from  those  classic  tongues  through  the  French, — occa- 
sionally from  other  languages.  A  multitude  of  such 
words  have  become  so  at  home  in  English  that  we  do 
not  think  of  them  as  out  of  the  ordinary.  Every  house- 
wife has  preserves  in  her  pantry,  and  the  signs  on  every 
ferry-boat  direct  our  attention  to  life-preservers.  Busi- 
ness has  its  contracts  and  specifications,  government  its 
statutes,  ordinances,  regulations,  and  penalties.  Educa- 
tion, morality,  ethics,  religion,  philosophy,  and  science, 
all  derive  their  names  from  the  classic  tongues.  It  is 
noticeable  that  the  very  adjectives  we  use  to  describe 
the  words  we  most  readily  understand,  as  common,  easy, 
familiar,  ordinary,  plain,  simple,  usual,  and  the  word 
clear  itself,  are  all  from  the  Latin. 

One  who  will  study  the  masterpieces  of  our  literature, 
— those  that  win,  delight,  impress  the  ordinary  mind, 
while  at  the  same  time  they  captivate  and  enthrall  the 
scholar, — the  immortal  utterances  which  the  world  will 


300  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

not  let  die, — will  find  that  they  have  met  this  double 
need  by  a  wise  and  skilful  intermingling  of  the  words 
of  common  life  with  those  that  are  out  of  the  ordinary, 
delicate,  dignified,  musical,  resonant,  lofty,  noble,  ex- 
alted. These  are  deftly  sandwiched  in,  just  where  they 
will  have  the  fullest  effect  of  beauty  or  power,  and  in 
their  setting  are  instantly  all  at  home.  At  each  point 
where  one  of  these  choicer  words  occurs,  we  could  sub- 
stitute no  other, — wish  for  no  other.  Beauty,  force,  dig- 
nity, sublimity,  are  joined  with  highest  perspicuity. 

See  how  perfect  is  the  mosaic  in  Gray's  renowned 
poem.  In  the  following  survey  we  have  run  through 
the  essential  part  of  the  poem,  italicizing  all  the  words 
derived  from  the  Latin,  Greek,  or  French,  and  leaving 
unmarked  the  Anglo-Saxon  words,  and,  also,  those  from 
the  Danish,  Norse,  or  kindred  tongues  which  found  their 
way  into  English  at  so  early  a  date  that  they  may  be 
classed  as  native  English  words. 

We  may  end  the  examination  with  the  twenty-third 
stanza,  for  there  the  poem  really  ends.  The  poet  had 
then  exhausted  his  inspiration  and  written  all  he  had 
to  write.  The  added  portion,  with  its  sickly  description 
of  the  melancholy  swain  and  the  studied  affectations 
of  the  "Epitaph,"  is  an  afterthought  to  finish  a  poem 
that  was  already  done.  They  bring  in  the  artificiality 
of  his  age,  which  he  had  avoided,  when,  in  the  essential 
part  of  the  poem,  he  simply  followed  the  thoughts  and 
feeling  of  a  broad-minded,  thoughtful,  tender-hearted 
man. 

I 

The  citrfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day, 
The  lowing  herd  winds  slowly  o'er  the  lea, 

The  plowman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way,  ^ 

And  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me. 


FITTING   CHOICE    OF   WORDS  301 

Here  the  very  first  prominent  word  is  of  Old-French 
derivation,  —  curfew.  Yet  the  word  was  familiar  enough 
in  Gray's  time  not  to  seem  remote  or  repellent,  while 
the  Anglo-Saxon  word  toll  carries  the  note  of  the  bell 
in  its  very  sound,  and  who  ever  thinks  of  parting  as 
from  the  Latin  ?  The  two  closing  lines  of  the  stanza  are 
all  Anglo-Saxon,  and  in  the  word  "plod"  you  hear  the 
heavy  tramp  of  the  tired  man,  as  he  walks  homeward, 
"plod—  plod—  plod." 

II 

Now  fades  the  glimmering  landscape  on  the  sight, 
And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds, 

Save  where  the  beetle  wheels  his  droning  flight, 
And  drowsy  tiiiklings  lull  the  distant  folds. 

The  Anglo-Saxon  word  "glimmering"  is  expressive  of 
the  hour.  The  "landscape"  is  perceptible  in  the  twi- 
light, but  indistinct  in  the  slight  tremor  of  the  evening 
air.  The  Anglo-Saxon  word  "landscape"  is  perfectly 
at  home  with  the  Old-French  fade,  as  the  "landscape" 
fades.  The  Greek  air  and  the  Latin  solemn  fit  readily 
with  the  Anglo-Saxon  "stillness"  and  "sight."  In  the 
third  line  the  introductory  save,  from  the  French,  is  a 
trifle  bookish,  but  fits  well  with  the  elevated  style  of  the 
poem,  while  the  Latin  distant  does  not  seem  strange  or 
foreign,  but  joins  naturally  with  the  "droning  flight" 
of  the  "beetle"  and  the  "drowsy  tinklings"  of  the 
"folds." 


Save  that  from  yonder  ivy-mantled  tower 
The  moping  owl  does  to  the  moon  complain 

Of  such  as,  wand'ring  near  her  secret  bower, 
Molest  her  ancient  solitary  reign. 


^302  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

The  Latin  mantled  has  become  so  thoroughly  natural- 
ized that  it  can  be  compounded  with  a  pure  Anglo- 
Saxon  word  in  ivy-mantled,  while  the  tower,  originally 
from  the  Latin  turris,  has  become  so  completely  a  part 
of  the  language,  that  no  one  thinks  of  it  as  a  foreign 
derivative.  The  Anglo-Saxon  moping  owl,  wandering, 
and  bower  harmonize  completely  with  the  Latin  and 
Latin-French  complain,  secret,  and  molest.  In  the  clos- 
ing line  every  word  except  the  pronoun  is  from  the 
Latin,  either  directly  or  through  the  French,  but  what 
a  special  dignity  these  more  scholarly  words  lend  to  the 
line — "Molest  her  ancient  solitary  reign." 

IV 

Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew  tree's  shade, 
Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a  mold'ring  heap, 

Each  in  his  narrow  cell  forever  laid, 

The  rude  Forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep. 

A  stanza  of  almost  pure  Anglo-Saxon,  where  the  Latin 
cell  and  rude  seem  as  Anglo-Saxon  as  the  rest.  The 
word  hamlet,  directly  from  the  Old-French,  is  ultimately 
from  the  Old-Friesian,  a  speech  closely  akin  to  the 
Anglo-Saxon. 

V 

The  breezy  call  of  incense-breathing  Morn, 

The  swallow  twitt'ring  from  the  straw-built  shed, 

The  cock's  shrill  clarion,  or  the  echoing  horn, 
No  more  shall  rouse  them  from  their  lowly  bed. 

The  Latin  Old-French  clarion  seems  somewhat  far 
from  familiar  life;  but  perhaps  there  is  its  very  charm 
in  connection  with  the  familiar  cock  and  shrill.  "The 
cock's  shrill  clarion"  is  more  poetic  than  "the  cock's 
shrill  crowing"  would  be,  and  the  apt  metaphor  ele- 


FITTING    CHOICE    OF   WOKDS  303 

vates  that  familiar  note  with  a  touch  of  pleasant  sur- 
prise. The  echoing,  from  the  far-off  Greek,  combines 
perfectly  with  the  plain  Anglo-Saxon  horn.  How  per- 
fectly the  deftly  fitted  words  bring  the  whole  scene 
before  us!  We  seem  almost  to  inhale  the  very  air  of 
that  "incense-breathing  morn,"  and  respond  to  its 
' '  breezy  call, ' '  as  the  ' '  echoing  horn ' '  of  hunters  riding 
by  answers  the  familiar  sounds  of  awakening  nature. 

It  is  impossible  here  to  trace  further  the  items,  stanza 
by  stanza  and  word  by  word,  though  anyone  who  will 
follow  out  such  analysis  will  find  himself  well  repaid. 

VI 

For  them  no  more  the  blazing  hearth  shall  burn, 
Or  busy  housewife  ply  her  evening  care; 

No  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return, 
Or  climb  his  knees  the  envied  kiss  to  share. 

VII 

Oft  did  the  harvest  to  their  sickle  yield, 

Their  furrow  oft  the  stubborn  glebe  has  broke; 

How  jocund  did  they  drive  their  team  afield! 
How  bowed  the  woods  beneath  their  sturdy  stroke! 

VIII 

Let  not  Ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 
Their  homely  joys,  and  destiny  obscure; 

Nor  Grandeur  hear,  with  a  disdainful  smile, 
The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor. 

IX 

The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power, 
And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave, 

Await  alike  th'  inevitable  hour: — 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave. 


304  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 


Nor  you,  ye  Proud,  impute  to  these  the  fault, 
If  Mem'ry  o'er  their  tomb  no  trophies  raise, 

Where  through  the  long-drawn  aisle  and  fretted  vauU 
The  pealing  anthem  swells  the  note  of  praise. 

XI 

Can  storied  urn  or  animated  bust 

Back  to  its  mansion  call  the  fleeting  breath  ? 

Can  Honor's  voice  provoke  the  silent  dust, 

Or  Flatt'ry  soothe  the  dull,  cold  ear  of  Death  ? 

Let  us  take  up  stanzas  IX-XI,  which  seem  most  replete 
with  words  of  foreign  derivation.  Here  the  access  of 
classic  and  less  familiar  words  fits  the  movement  of 
thought.  Heraldry,  pomp,  the  pealing  anthem,  the 
storied  urn  and  animated  bust  seem  to  bring  before  us 
the  stately  scene  of  solemn  procession  down  cathedral 
aisles,  as  some  honored  leader  is  laid  to  glorious  rest. 
The  less  familiar  words  fit  the  majestic  scene,  which  is 
out  of  the  ordinary  and  above  the  common.  Yet  mark 
how  completely  the  French  beauty  chimes  with  the 
Anglo-Saxon  wealth;  how  the  word  of  native  English 
stock  is  at  home  amid  its  high  surroundings.  The 
longest  Latin  derivative,  inevitable,  comes  in  simply  and 
naturally;  its  smoothly  flowing  syllables  fit  the  poetic 
measure,  while  the  word  has  in  itself  a  loftiness  and 
dignity  which  bring  the  whole  line  up  to  match  the  sol- 
emn majesty  of  death — "the  INEVITABLE  hour." 

But  the  final  line  of  stanza  XI  is  entirely  Anglo- 
Saxon,  yet  matches  perfectly  with  all  the  preceding, 
and  follows  without  shock  or  jar: 

"Or  Flatt'ry  soothe  the  dull,  cold  ear  of  Death." 
We  pass  on: 


305 


XII 

Perhaps  in  this  neglected  spot  is  laid 

Some  heart  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire; 

Hands  that  the  rod  of  empire  might  have  swayed, 
Or  waked  to  ecstasy  the  living  lyre. 

XIII 

But  Knowledge  to  their  eyes  her  ample  page, 
Rich  with  the  spoils  of  time,  did  ne'er  unroll; 

Chill  Penury  repressed  their  noble  rage, 
And  froze  the  genial  current  of  the  soul. 

XIV 

Full  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene 

The  dark  unfathomed  caves  of  ocean  bear; 

Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen, 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air. 

XV 

Some  village  Hampden,  that  with  dauntless  breast 
The  little  tyrant  of  his  fields  withstood; 

Some  mute,  inglorious  Milton  here  may  rest. 
Some  Cromwell  guiltless  of  his  country's  blood. 

XVI 

Th'  applause  of  list'ning  senates  to  command, 
The  threats  of  pain  and  ruin  to  despise, 

To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  land, 

And  read  their  history  in  a  nation's  eyes, 

XVII 

Their  lot  forbade;  nor  circumscribed  alone 

Their  growing  virtues,  but  their  crimes  confined; 

Forbade  to  wade  through  slaughter  to  a  throne, 
And  shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on  mankind, 

XVIII 

The  struggling  pangs  of  conscious  truth  to  hide, 
To  quench  the  blushes  of  ingenuous  shame, 

Or  heap  the  shrine  of  Luxury  and  Pride 
With  incense  kindled  at  the  Muse's  flame. 


306  EXPRESSIVE    EN7GLISH 

XIX 

Far  from  the  madding  crowd's  ignoble  strife, 
Their  sober  wishes  never  learned  to  stray; 

Along  the  cool  sequestered  vale  of  life 

They  kept  the  noiseless  tenor  of  their  way. 

XX 

Yet  ev'n  these  bones  from  insult  to  protect 
Some  frail  memorial  still  erected  nigh, 

With  uncouth  rimes  and  shapeless  sculpture  decked, 
Implores  the  passing  tribute  of  a  sigh. 

XXI 

Their  name,  their  years,  spelt  by  th'  unlettered  Muse, 

The  place  of  fame  and  elegy  supply; 
And  many  a  holy  text  around  she  strews, 

That  teach  the  rustic  moralist  to  die. 

XXII 

For  who,  to  dumb  Forgetfulness  a  prey, 
This  pleasing  anxious  being  e'er  resigned, 

Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the  cheerful  day, 
Nor  cast  one  longing,  ling'ring  look  behind? 

XXIII 

On  some  fond  breast  the  parting  soul  relies, 
Some  pious  drops  the  closing  eye  requires; 

Ev'n  from  the  tomb  the  voice  of  Nature  cries, 
Ev'n  in  our  ashes  live  their  wonted  fires. 

In  these  closing  stanzas  (XXII-XXIII)  the  same 
effect  above  noticed  is  to  be  observed.  Each  closing  line 
is  all  in  the  native  speech : 

"Nor  cast  one  longing,  ling'ring  look  behind;" 
"Ev'n  in  our  ashes  live  their  wonted  fires." 


FITTING    CHOICE    OP   WORDS  307 

Yet  the  harmony  with  the  preceding  lines  of  each  stanza 
is  still  perfect.  We  doubt  whether  the  poet,  finished 
scholar  though  he  was,  consciously  thought  of  etymolo- 
gies as  he  wrote.  We  believe,  rather,  that  he  took  at 
each  moment  the  word  which  then  seemed  most  appro- 
priate, and  which  best  suited  his  artistic,  poetic  sense. 

Such  a  study  shows  the  profound  unity  which  the 
variously  derived  words  of  the  English  language  have 
achieved  through  the  usage  of  centuries.  It  shows,  also, 
that  the  effect  of  clearness  produced  by  words  depends, 
not  upon  the  place  from  which  they  come,  but  upon  the 
place  which  they  have  made  for  themselves  among  the 
harmoniously  blended  elements  of  our  language.  Far 
beyond  etymological  research,  perspicuity,  as  well  as 
beauty  and  power,  is  to  be  found  in  the  accepted  usage 
of  words  and  their  appropriateness  to  place  and  con- 
text in  the  connection  which  the  speaker  or  writer  as- 
signs them. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

CLEARNESS  OF  STYLE— III 
BY  THE  MASTERY  OF  SENTENCE-CONSTRUCTION 

Construction  is  literally  a  ' '  building  together. ' '  Rhe- 
torically, it  is  the  building  together  of  words  into  coher- 
ent statements:  first,  in  sentences;  then  in  paragraphs; 
and  finally  in  an  entire  composition. 

There  is  a  sentence-structure  so  perfect,  that  every 
word  helps  to  the  understanding  of  every  other, 
strengthening,  explaining,  or  illuminating;  and  there  is 
a  sentence-structure  in  which  every  word  seems  to  be 
in  the  way  of  every  other,  so  that  the  hearer  or  reader 
makes  his  way  as  over  loose  building  materials,  stum- 
bling, slipping,  and  struggling  on,  hindered  at  every 
step  by  that  which,  if  properly  constructed,  would 
afford  shelter,  comfort,  and  beauty.  The  ill-heaped 
material  may  be  of  choice  wood  or  costly  stone,  perhaps 
richly  carved,  but  its  lack  of  structure  makes  it  but  a 
rubbish-heap.  Take,  for  instance,  the  following  anec- 
dote : 

"An  English  professor,  traveling  through  the  Kentucky 
hills,  noted  various  quaint  expressions.  For  instance,  after 
a  long  ride,  he  sought  provisions  at  a  mountain  hut.  "Mad- 
am," said  the  professor,  "can  we  get  corn  bread  here?  We'd 
like  to  buy  some  of  you."  "Co'n  bread?"  replied  the  dame. 
"Why,  if  co'n  bread  is  all  yo'  want,  come  right  in;  for  that's 
jest  what  I  hain't  got  nuthin'  else  on  hand  but." 

Here,  the  words,  though  rude,  are  perfectly  intelligible, 
but  are  so  strangely  pitched  together,  as  to  compel  the 

308 


SENTENCE-CONSTRUCTION  309 

mind  to  struggle  for  the  meaning,  which  fewer  words 
would  have  made  absolutely  clear, — "for  that's  all  I 
have  on  hand."  Or,  consider  a  specimen  of  a  very  dif- 
ferent type, — an  announcement  posted  at  a  popular  sum- 
mer resort: 

"Inattention  or  incivility  of  attendants,  if  notified,  the  pro- 
prietor will  be  pleased." 

In  this  statement  the  words  are  of  a  high  quality, — 
more  than  ordinarily  excellent, — but  the  effect  is  con- 
fusing. We  know  what  is  meant,  but  in  a  confused  and 
cloudy  manner.  Perspicuity,  ' '  see-through-it-ive-ness, ' ' 
is  lacking.  We  see  the  idea,  as  we  sometimes  see  a  shape 
through  a  pane  of  cathedral  glass,  when  we  may  know 
that  it  is  a  human  figure,  and  may  even  be  able  to  judge 
whether  it  is  that  of  man  or  woman,  while  no  features 
nor  outlines  are  distinctly  perceptible.  In  the  case  of 
such  a  sentence,  we  must  mentally  translate  the  sen- 
tence, before  we  are  fully  in  possession  of  the  meaning : — 

"The  proprietor  will  consider  it  a  favor  to  be  notified  of 
any  inattention  or  incivility  of  attendants." 

Ah,  yes !  All  is  at  once  evident.  The  words  are  nearly 
the  same,  but  the  construction  is  now  coherent.  The 
following  statute  is  said  to  have  been  proposed  in  the 
legislature  of  Arkansas: 

"When  two  trains,  coming  from  different  directions,  ap- 
proach any  crossing  in  this  state,  both  shall  come  to  a  full 
stop,  and  neither  shall  proceed,  until  the  other  has  passed  by." 

This  construction  has  the  fault  of  undue  compres- 
sion. The  writer  has  telescoped  two  sentences,  with  the 
odd  result,  that  his  meaning  is  discernible,  while  his 
statement  is  impossible.  He  simply  needed  a  few  more 
words  to  fill  out  his  scheme : 


310  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

" ,  both  shall  come  to  a  full  stop,  after  which  the 

one  having  the  right  of  way  shall  proceed,  while  the  other 
shall  wait  until  the  first  has  passed  by." 


Observe  that  here,  also,  the  words  are  all  excellent, 
and  there  is  a  suggestion  of  legal  precision  and  exact- 
ness; but  all  is  precipitated  into  chaos  just  when  we 
wait  for  the  conclusion,  and  the  trains  are  left  forever 
stalled  upon  a  contradiction  in  terms. 

A  reporter  in  the  New  York  Herald,  of  August  5, 
1915,  undertook  the  difficult  assignment  of  reporting  a 
meeting  in  Trinity  Church,  which  had  been  understood 
to  be  one  of  prayer  for  the  success  of  the  Allies,  when, 
of  course,  strict  neutrality  required  that  equally  fer- 
vent prayers  should  be  offered  at  the  same  time  for  the 
success  of  the  Germans.  Here  is  the  reporter's  solu- 
tion: 

"The  church  was  thronged  when  the  assistant  rector  began 
the  noon-day  service.  Several  delegations  of  British  socie- 
ties marched  in,  and  took  seats.  The  service  followed  the 
usual  order.  If  prayers  were  offered  for  the  success  of  the 
Allies,  as  reported,  they  were  done  so  privately." 

Of  course,  prayers  that  were  "done  so"  would  be 
unobjectionable. 

Rhetorical  is  closely  connected  with  grammatical  con- 
struction, but  the  rhetorical  always  transcends  the 
grammatical.  A  statement  may  be  rhetorically  prepos- 
terous, while  grammatically  faultless,  as  in  the  case  of 
that  attributed  to  Mr.  Bonar  Law  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons: 

"Sir,  the  government  has  fallen  into  the  habit  of  letting 
tilings  drift,  until  they  run  against  a  precipice,  which  brings 
them  to  a  stand." 


SENTENCE-CONSTRUCTION  311 

Grammatically  this  statement  is  correct,  but  rhetori- 
cally its  conjunction  of  ideas  is  astounding.  For,  the 
only  fault  of  a  precipice  is,  that  one  does  not  "run 
against"  it,  and  that  there  is  nothing  to  " bring  (one) 
to  a  stand."  If  something  only  would,  the  unfortu- 
nate  wayfarer  might  avoid  going  over.  When  this 
statement  was  received  with  roars  of  laughter,  Mr.  Law 
is  said  to  have  remarked  that  "he  was  aware  that  he 
had  expressed  himself  badly,  but  he  thought  the  House 
would  understand  him."  This  is  an  illuminating  re- 
mark. For,  one  of  the  most  prolific  causes  of  non-per- 
spicuous utterance  is  just  this  confidence  that  hearers 
or  readers,  from  their  antecedent  knowledge,  will  ex- 
tract a  meaning,  which  the  language  employed  does  not 
convey.  But  from  truly  perspicuous  language  it  is 
never  necessary  to  disentangle  the  meaning.  It  lies  be- 
fore the  mind  as  a  landscape  before  the  eye  in  the  clear 
light  of  sun  or  moon.  It  is  only  necessary  to  open  the 
eyes  and  see.  To  secure  such  clearness,  certain  require- 
ments are  absolutely  indispensable. 

1.  The  subject  must  stand  out,  manifest  and  inescapa- 
ble, as  the  chief  thing  to  be  considered.  For  the  gram- 
matical subject,  it  is  enough,  if  it  but  exists,  and  is  in 
right  relation  with  the  predicate  verb.  Then  the  sen- 
tence is  grammatical.  But  the  rhetorical  subject, — the 
subject  of  discourse, — must  fix  and  hold  the  attention 
beyond  a  peradventure.  This  subject  should  appear 
clearly  at  the  outset.  If  limitations  and  negations  must 
come  in,  they  should  be  held  clearly  subordinate  to  the 
main  theme,  and  at  times  that  theme  may  need  to  be  re- 
stated, in  order  to  regain  its  due  prominence.  Thus  a 
lawyer  might  have  occasion  to  say,  "We  charge  that 
this  act  is  a  felony,  not  under  the  common  law,  but 
under  an  express  statute,  which  supersedes  the  common 


312  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

law;  not  under  the  laws  of  Pennsylvania,  but  of  New 
York;  not  to  be  determined  by  ancient  precedents,  but 
by  the  law  enacted  by  the  legislature  of  the  State  of  New 

York  in  the  year  1915,   which  provides ."     Then 

the  recital  of  the  law  brings  back  his  subject,  felony. 
So  in  all  cases,  the  point  to  be  made,  the  main  subject 
of  discourse  in  the  immediate  connection,  must  stand 
clearly  evident,  as  the  one  thing  the  hearer  or  reader 
cannot  miss,  overlook,  nor  forget. 

This  rhetorical  subject  may,  or  may  not,  coincide  with 
the  grammatical  subject.  Where  the  two  are  identical 
there  is  a  special  clearness  in  the  construction,  as  in  the 
opening  of  Bacon's  ''Essay  on  Learning:" 

"Learning  taketh  away  the  wildness,  barbarism,  and  fierce- 
ness of  men's  minds." 

You  may  approve  or  criticise  that  statement.  You 
may,  perhaps,  consider  it  a  half-truth,  misleading  in  its 
result.  But  you  have  not  an  instant's  doubt  what  it 
means.  You  do  not  have  to  read  it  twice.  It  is  per- 
spicuous to  the  utmost.  So  is  the  following,  from 
Charles  Sumner's  oration  on  "The  True  Grandeur  of 
Nations : ' ' 

"The  true  greatness  of  nations  is  in  those  qualities  which 
constitute  the  greatness  of  the  individual." 

But  such  identity  of  the  rhetorical  with  the  gram- 
matical subject  is  not  a  matter  to  worry  about.  The 
rhetorical  subject  may  stand  out  in  effective  promi- 
nence, when  it  is  a  subordinate  element  of  the  gram- 
matical construction.  Thus  in  the  famed  sentence  from 
Richard  Hooker's  "Ecclesiastical  Polity:" 

"Of  law  there  can  be  no  less  acknowledged  than  that  her 
seat  is  the  bosom  of  God,  her  voice  the  harmony  of  the  world. 


SENTENCE-CONSTRUCTION  313 

All  things  in  heaven  or  earth  do  her  homage, — the  very  least 
as  feeling  her  care,  and  the  greatest  as  not  exempted  from 
her  power." 

The  word  "law",  here,  is  grammatically  the  object 
of  a  preposition,  but  it  takes  instant  command  of  the 
whole  construction,  because  everything  else  that  is  said 
is  gathered  around  and  related  to  the  one  great  thought 
which  that  word  expresses.  Sometimes,  by  inversion, 
the  rhetorical  subject  may  be  swept  to  the  very  end 
of  a  sentence,  as  part  of  the  grammatical  predicate.  It 
is  the  rhetorical  subject  still.  This  will  be  seen  in  the 
extract  following,  from  Kant's  "Critique  of  Practical 
Reason,"  which,  though  a  translation,  is  clear  and  vig- 
orous still: 

"Two  things  there  are,  which,  the  oftener  and  the  more 
steadfastly  we  consider  them,  fill  the  mind  with  an  ever  new, 
an  ever- increasing  admiration  and  reverence: — the  starry 
heavens  above,  the  moral  law  within." 

This  requirement  of  making  the  subject  stand  out 
may  be  enforced  by  certain  negative  corollaries : 

(1)  Do  not  bury  the  subject.  Some  authors,  often 
supposed  to  be  profound,  have  a  trick  of  hiding  a  sub- 
ject in  a  sentence  or  paragraph  so  that  it  is  unapproach- 
able from  either  end.  Archbishop  Whately  in  his  ' '  Ele- 
ments of  Rhetoric"  quotes  such  a  sentence: 

"It  is  not  without  a  degree  of  patient  attention  and  perse- 
vering diligence,  greater  than  the  generality  are  willing  to 
bestow,  though  not  greater  than  the  subject  deserves,  that 
the  habit  can  be  acquired  of  examining  and  judging  of  our 
own  conduct  wrtjh  the  same  accuracy  and  impartiality  as 
that  of  another." 

This  sentence  is  so  bad  that  it  is  not  worth  the  space 
required  to  show  completely  how  bad  it  is.  We  may 


314  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

note  a  few  items.  You  must  pass  twenty-eight  words 
before  you  touch  the  subject,  and  then  you  get  but  a 
piece  of  it, — "habit."  Then  the  verb  "can  be  acquired" 
comes  in  to  stave  you  off  from  learning  what  the 
"habit"  is,  that  is  so  difficult  to  acquire.  At  last  that 
appears,  but  so  broken  up  by  limitations  of  "examin- 
ing" and  "judging,"  "accuracy"  and  "impartiality," 
that  the  mind  infallibly  goes  off  on  a  sidetrack,  and 
"finds  no  end,  in  wandering  mazes  lost."  The  Arch- 
bishop labors  valiantly  to  reconstruct  the  sentence,  and 
does  make  some  improvement,  but  it  remains  ugly  when 
all  is  done.  Still  it  requires  "a  degree  of  patient  at- 
tention and  persevering  diligence  greater  than  the  gen- 
erality are  willing  to  bestow, ' '  to  find  out  what  it  means. 
Therefore  "the  generality"  will  not  try. 

There  is  nothing  to  do  with  such  a  sentence,  but  to 
smash  it.  Break  it  up  into  parts,  and  the  mind  may  be 
able  to  attend  to  them  separately.  What  the  author  of 
the  sentence  wants  to  say  is : 

"The  habit  of  examining  our  own  conduct  as  accurately  as 
that  of  another,  and  judging  of  it  as  impartially,  is  difficult 
to  acquire.  It  can  only  be  attained  by  patient  attention  and 
persevering  diligence.  But  the  result  is  worth  the  endeavor." 

Broken  up  into  three  sentences,  with  a  total  of  forty- 
one  words,  the  statement  is  comprehensible,  as  it  was 
not  in  the  one  sentence  of  fifty-two  words.  But  we  have 
left  out  some  qualifications  and  limitations!  Yes,  and 
perhaps  it  would  have  been  well  to  leave  out  more.  Few 
speakers  or  writers,  who  attain  results,  carry  many  of 
those  things  along.  We  can  spare  that  rap  at  the  gen- 
eral public, — "the  generality" — for  instance,  for  the 
sake  of  having  that  general  public  get  clearly  what  we 
do  say.  Then,  that  modifying  clause,  "though  not 


SENTENCE-CONSTRUCTION  315 

greater  than  the  subject  deserves,"  which  was  at  once 
embarrassing  and  feeble,  as  originally  sandwiched  in, 
becomes  effective,  when  set  off  by  contrast,  as  a  conclud- 
ing thought, — ''But  the  result  is  worth  the  endeavor." 
There  is,  then,  a  reason  for  trying  to  do  this  hard  thing. 

Whenever  a  writer  finds  himself  wound  up  in  a  cum- 
brous and  clumsy  sentence,  which  he  cannot  disentangle, 
let  him  do  what  Alexander  did, — cut  the  knot.  Then 
he  can  separate  the  ends.  Start  the  sentence  anew. 
Shake  yourself  free  from  the  form  in  which  you  have 
originally  cast  your  sentence.  A  writer's  own  words 
often  become  to  him  a  yoke  of  bondage.  Ask  yourself, 
"Just  what  do  I  really  want  to  say?"  Then  say  just 
that,  in  any  way  you  can,  and  you  will  probably  find 
that  you  have  blundered  into  the  very  best  way.  What 
is  transparently  clear  to  you  is  likely  to  be  so  to  other 
people.  If  you  have  dropped  any  modifiers  or  limiting 
clauses  in  this  process,  do  not  let  that  disturb  you. 
Those  you  address  would  have  dropped  them,  if  you 
had  not,  and  probably  much  else  along  with  them.  The 
faculty  of  obliteration  possessed  by  readers  and  audi- 
ences must,  always  be  reckoned  with.  You  cannot  give 
people  more  than  they  can  understand,  nor  more  than 
they  will  take  the  trouble  to  understand.  If  any  of  the 
eliminated  matter  is  really  important  to  your  subject, 
you  can  see  that  when  it  is  outside  the  mass,  and  give 
it  such  separate  place  as  it  may  be  worth.  But  most  of 
the  provisos  in  intricate  discourses  and  disquisitions 
are  as  unimportant  as  kid  gloves  to  a  railroad  engineer. 
In  all  speech  and  writing  the  chief  question  must  be,  Is 
the  sentence  or  paragraph  carrying  the  subject  on  to  its 
destination! 

(2)  Do  not  change  the  subject  needlessly  or  heed- 
lessly. There  is  a  natural  and  legitimate  change  of  sub- 


316  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

ject,  as«in  narration  or  description,  which  conduces  to 
freed&M"/4nd  variety.  But  there  is  a  wanton  and  pur- 
poseless change  of  subject  that  springs  simply  from  lack 
of  definiteness  in  the  speaker's  or  writer's  thought. 
Various  ideas  are  adrift  in  his  mind,  and  he  picks  them 
up  by  whichever  end  is  handiest,  and  pitches  them  into 
the  receptacle  of  his  sentence,  leaving  the  hearer  or 
reader  to  arrange  them  into  such  mental  order  as  he 
can. 

"The  ship  reached  her  port  in  safety,  but  two  days  had 
•elapsed  beyond  the  time  when  her  arrival  had  been  expected, 
as  there  had  been  violent  storms,  and  the  sea  bad  been  very 
rough,  so  that  progress  was  difficult,  and  a  crowd  of  my 
friends  met  me  at  the  dock." 

This  sentence  is  almost  as  difficult  as  the  voyage  it 
describes,  and  the  reception  of  the  narrator  by  ' '  a  crowd 
of  friends"  comes  in  at  the  end  with  a  suddenness  to 
make  one  gasp.  We  had  read  of  "the  ship,"  but  had 
no  idea  that  he  was  on  board.  Six  subjects, — ship,  days, 
arrival,  storm,  sea,  progress, — had  successively  claimed 
our  attention,  and  when  he  at  last  appears,  it  is  not  as 
a  subject,  but  as  an  object,  whom  the  "crowd  of  friends" 
liave  come  to  see.  Subsidiary  topics  have  been  brought 
into  prominence,  with  the  effect  of  distracting  attention 
from  one  to  another  in  succession.  All  the  lines  are  dis- 
continuous, so  that  there  is  no  clear  image. 

As  regards  the  choice  of  subject,  the  author  should 
train  himself  to  ask,  from  time  to  time,  "Just  what  do 
I  most  wish  to  speak  of  here?"  That,  once  decided, 
should  be  the  main  subject  of  that  sentence  or  para- 
graph, to  which  all  else  should  be  subsidiary.  In  the 
example  just  given,  the  chief  consideration  is  the  ex- 
perience of  tbe  returned  traveler,  which, — as  he  is  him- 


SENTENCE-CONSTRUCTION  317 

self  telling  the  story, — will  naturally  be  in  the  first  per- 
son: 

"I  arrived  safely,  though  two  days  late,  after  a  rough  and 
stormy  voyage,  and  was  met  at  the  dock  by  a  crowd  of 
friends." 

Following  a  single  subject,  the  mind  grasps  the  en- 
tire meaning  without  conscious  effort.  Against  such 
confused  construction  as  above  instanced,  set  the  fol- 
lowing sentence,  in  which  transparent  clearness  is  at- 
tained : 

"The  good  writer  says  all  that  he  means  to  say,  says  no 
more  than  he  means  to  say,  and  says  all  exactly  as  he  means 
to  say  it." 

Here  the  "good  writer"  is  at  the  front  from  first  to 
last,  and  we  follow  his  characteristics  with  ease  and 
pleasure. 

(3)  Do  not  confuse  the  subject  by  following  an  ad- 
junct, as  in  the  sentence,  ' '  The  entire  expanse  of  the  ex- 
tensive grounds  were  illuminated  by  electric  light." 
What  is  wrong  about  that?  the  novice  may  ask.  "The 
grounds  WERE  illuminated. ' '  Yes,  but  we  were  speak- 
ing of  the  expanse.  Of  what  extremes  this  sort  of  error 
is  capable  may  be  seen  in  the  following  clipping  from 
a  daily  paper  published  at  the  capital  of  the  United 
States : 

"The  deliberations  ended,  each  member  of  the  party,  which 
numbered  twenty,  stationed  himself  at  different  parts  of  the 
stream,  and  began  to  form  a  narrowing  circle." 

Here  the  reporter  evidently  left  "each  member,"  and 
was  going  on  with  "the  party"  as  his  subject.  But  he 
did  not  quite  have  the  courage  of  his  inaccuracy.  If  he 
had  gone  bravely  on,  and  said  "stationed  themselves," 
that  would  not,  indeed,  have  been  grammatical,  but  it 


318  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

would  have  been  intelligible.  Better  still,  he  might 
have  foreseen  his  need  of  a  divisible  subject,  and  said 
at  the  outset  "the  members  of  the  party."  Then  he 
could  have  added  "stationed  themselves,"  etc.,  with 
both  grammatical  and  rhetorical  consistency.  Somehow 
the  indispensable  prerequisite  of  a  clear  subject  must 
be  met  and  adhered  to. 

This  is  equally  true  of  the  simplest  anecdote,  the 
lightest  and  most  playful  description,  and  the  highest 
flights  of  poetry  and  oratory.  Take,  for  instance,  the 
description  of  Ichabod  Crane's  steed,  in  Irving's 
"Legend  of  Sleepy  Hollow:" 

"The  animal  he  bestrode  was  a  broken-down  plow-horse, 
that  had  outlived  almost  everything  but  his  viciousness.  He 
was  gaunt  and  shagged,  with  a  ewe-neck,  and  a  head  like  a 
hammer;  his  rusty  mane  and  tail  were  tangled  and  knotted 
with  burrs;  one  eye  had  lost  its  pupil,  and  was  glaring  and 
spectral,  but  the  other  had  the  gleam  of  a  genuine  devil  in  it. 
Still,  he  must  have  had  fire  and  mettle  in  his  day,  if  we  may 
judge  by  his  name,  which  was  Gunpowder." 

All  the  varied  particulars  unite  to  make  one  vivid, 
comic  picture.  Every  touch  brings  out  more  clearly  the 
one  theme  of  the  paragraph,  the  delineation  of  that 
quaint  old  horse,  till  we  see  him  as  if  he  had  passed  our 
own  door.  Now  turn  to  Tennyson's  solemn  "In  Memo- 
riam,"  and  read  his  description  of  the  rise  of  a  great 
man  from  humble  life  to  the  heights  of  power: 

As  some  divinely  gifted  MAN, 
Whose  life  in  low  estate  began, 
And  on  a  simple  village  green; 

Who  breaks  his  birth's  invidious  bar, 
And  grasps  the  skirts  of  happy  chance, 
And  breasts  the  blows  of  circumstance, 

And  grapples  with  his  evil  star; 


SENTENCE-CONSTRUCTION  319 

Who  makes  by  force  his  merit  known, 
And  lives  to  clutch  the  golden  keys, 
To  mould  a  mighty  state's  decrees, 

And  shape  the  whisper  of  the  throne; 

And  moving  up  from  high  to  higher, 
Becomes  on  Fortune's  crowning  slope, 
The  pillar  of  a  people's  hope, 

The  center  of  a  world's  desire. 

Through  all  that  one  "man"  is  at  the  forefront  of 
thought.  The  prolonged  description  of  his  career  is 
clear  and  easy  to  follow,  because  the  one  subject  is  never 
confused,  nor  lost  sight  of. 

2.  The  predicate  must  stand  out : — not  necessarily  the 
predicate  verb,  which  may  be  a  mere  "copula"  or  link 
of  construction;  but  the  essential  thing  said  or  "predi- 
cated" about  the  subject,  and  answering  to  the  subject. 
If  the  verb  itself  is  the  vital  answer  to  the  subject,  that 
is  well.  Thus: 

"The  Lord  preserveth  all  them  that  love  him;  but  all  the 
wicked  will  he  destroy." 

You  do  not  have  to  read  back,  or  to  think  back,  to 
learn  the  fate  of  the  righteous  or  of  the  wicked.  There 
it  is  before  your  eyes. 

"O  sing  unto  the  Lord  a  new  song;  for  he  hath  done  mar- 
velous things:  his  right  hand  and  his  holy  arm  hath  gotten 
him  the  victory." 

Here  the  prominence  is  given  to  subordinate  elements 
of  the  predicate,  "a  new  song,"  "marvelous  things," 
' '  victory ; ' '  but  how  the  passage  sings  and  triumphs ! 

(1)  There  must  always  be  a  predicate  verb. — Many 
ill-instructed  persons  will  write  a  series  of  words  like 
the  following : 


320  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

"Haying  at  last  been  compelled  to  relinquish  the  attempt 
on  account  of  numerous  obstacles  and  difficulties  and  much 
opposition." 

Such  a  writer  is  not  aware  that  he  has  not  made  a 
sentence.  Why  not?  There  are  words  enough;  there 
is  recital  of  important  items;  there  is  a  period.  Yes, 
there  is  everything  except  a  verb.  The  mind  has  no 
resting-place.  That  "having  been,"  with  all  the  ensu- 
ing words,  stands  only  as  a  participial  phrase,  introduc- 
tory to  an  expected  conclusion, — and  there  is  no  con- 
clusion. The  accumulated  words,  without  a  verb,  fail 
to  express  a  complete  thought.  "With  a  verb,  we  might 
have  a  sentence,  as  if  the  narrator  had  said,  "Having 
at  last  been  compelled  to  relinquish  the  attempt,  etc.,  / 
went  home.''  There  we  have  completed  action. 

(2)  The  predicate  verb  should  not  be  isolated,  unless 
it  is  by  itself  of  supreme  importance.  In  the  following 
verse  of  the  fourth  Psalm,  we  have,  in  the  Authorized 
English  Version,  both  constructions: 

"I  will  both  lay  me  down  in  peace,  and  sleep;  for  thou, 
Lord,  only  makest  me  to  dwell  in  safety." 

At  the  end  of  the  first  clause,  the  verb,  "sleep,"  may 
well  stand  alone,  for  it  expresses  the  crowning  act  of  a 
trustful  soul,  even  in  the  midst  of  perils.  He  dares  to 
"sleep."  But  in  the  second  clause,  the  verb  "dwell"  is 
no*  by  itself  important.  A  certain  paraphrase  renders 
this,  " — makest  me  in  safety  to  dwell."  By  such  ren- 
dering the  meaning  is  obscured.  To  dwell  is  not  such  a 
great  thing.  It  is  the  condition  in  which  one  dwells 
that  is  of  consequence.  This  the  Authorized  Version 
brings  out  by  carrying  the  modifier,  and  not  the  verb, 
to  the  emphatic  place  at  the  end  of  the  sentence, —  " — 
to  dwell  in  safety."  That  is  the  thing  to  be  desired. 


SENTENCE-CONSTRUCTION  321 

The  treatment  of  the  predicates  constitutes  one  of  many 
grounds  of  criticism  upon  the  subjoined  utterance  of 
Henry  James  in  his  essay  on  "The  Question  of  Our 
Speech:" 

"But  the  term  I  here  apply  brings  me  to  my  second  answer 
to  your  three  or  four  postulated  challenges — the  question  of 
what  I  mean  by  speaking  badly.  I  might  reply  to  you,  very 
synthetically,  that  I  mean  by  speaking  badly,  speaking  as 
millions  and  millions  of  supposedly  educated,  supposedly  civ- 
ilized persons — that  is  the  point — of  both  sexes,  in  our  great 
country,  habitually,  persistently,  imperturbably,  and  I  think 
for  the  most  part  all  unwittingly,  speak;  that  form  of  satis- 
faction to  you  being  good  enough — isn't  it? — to  cover  much 
of  the  ground." 

Here  are  twenty-nine  words,  some  of  them  long  and 
difficult,  between  the  subject,  "millions,"  and  the  verb, 
"speak,"  and  we  are  sorry  for  that  poor  little  predi- 
cate verb,  when  it  limps  in  alone  at  the  end  of  the  pro- 
cession, and  are  fain  to  ask,  Why  does  this  appear,  and 
where  did  it  come  from?  for  we  had  forgotten  that  any 
predicate  verb  was  ever  to  be  needed. 

(3)  The  predicate  should  stop. — We  all  know  talkers 
of  whom  no  one  can  tell  when  they  have  finished.  It  is 
impossible  to  interject  a  remark,  because  their  every 
statement  has  an  appendix  in  continuous  sequence.  It 
was  the  fortune  of  the  present  author  to  hear  an  ad- 
dress by  a  society  lady  of  this  type.  Repeatedly  she 
approached  a  peroration,  but  at  the  very  crowning  mo- 
ment a  new  suggestion  attached  itself,  and  she  was  off 
once  more.  Suddenly  she  burst  out,  "Well,  the  only 
way  I  can  stop  is  to  sit  down," — which  she  accordingly 
did,  to  her  own  great  relief,  and  that  of  her  audience. 
The  relation  of  many  a  speaker  or  writer  to  his  sentence 
is  that  of  a  rider  to  a  runaway  horse.  He  can  neither 


322  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

stop  nor  get  off.  He  needs  the  curb-bit  of  a  period.  Let 
him  settle  decisively  what  is  the  legitimate  end  of  that 
sentence,  and  stop  there.  If  he  should  chance  to  have 
another  idea,  it  will  always  be  possible  to  construct  an- 
other sentence.  If  the  idea  is  worth  adding,  it  is  worth 
a  sentence  of  its  own.  Here  is  to  be  noted  the  vicious 
fault  of  the  "trailing  clause," — that  is,  a  clause  gram- 
matically attached  to  the  end  of  a  sentence,  with  which 
it  is  not  connected  except  grammatically. 

"He  (Tillotson)  was  exceedingly  beloved,  both  by  King 
William  and  Queen  Mary,  who  nominated  Dr.  Tennison, 
Bishop  of  London,  to  succeed  him." 

The  first  thought  suggested  is,  that  however  much  the 
king  and  queen  loved  the  good  man,  they  very  promptly 
and  readily  filled  his  place. 

Sometimes  a  similar  effect  is  wrought,  not  by  a  dis- 
tinct clause,  but  by  a  descriptive  phrase.  An  instance 
of  this  occurs  in  a  work,  of  which  the  style  is,  in  gen- 
eral, remarkable  for  excellence: 

"The  instruments  of  this  revolt  are  likely  to  be  found 
among  the  exasperated  poor;  but  the  provocation  to  revolt  is 
likely  to  proceed  from  the  unemployed  and  self-indulgent 
rich,  spenders  of  that  which  others  have  gained,  the  persons 
of  whom  Mr.  Ruskin  has  said  that  their  wealth  should  be 
called  their  ill-th,  because  it  is  not  well,  but  ill  with  their 
souls." 

This  sentence  should  have  ended  with  "the  unem- 
ployed and  self-indulgent  rich."  The  descriptive  por- 
tion that  follows  has  the  effect,  not  only  of  letting  the 
thought  gradually  down,  but  also  of  diverting  it,  until 
the  added  phrase  has  obscured  the  principal  statement. 
The  sharpness  of  contrast  between  the  "exasperated 
•poor"  and  the  "self-indulgent  rich"  has  disappeared. 


SENTENCE-CONSTRUCTION  323 

The  power  of  which  the  predicate,  when  well  handled, 
is  capable  may  be  seen  in  the  following  passages  from 
the  grand  Elizabethan  English  *  of  our  Authorized 
Version  of  the  Scriptures;  where  in  sentence  after  sen- 
tence the  predicate  carries  the  wealth  of  thought,  so 
that  some  of  them  may  be  said  to  be  almost  all  predi- 
cate: 

"If  it  had  not  been  the  Lord  who  was  on  our  side,  now 
may  Israel  say; 

"If  it  had  not  been  the  Lord  who  was  on  our  side,  when 
men  rose  up  against  us; 

"Then  they  had  swallowed  us  up  quick,  when  their  wrath 
was  kindled  against  us; 

"Then  the  waters  had  overwhelmed  us,  the  stream  had 
gone  over  our  soul; 

•'Then  the  proud  waters  had  gone  over  our  soul. 

"Blessed  be  the  Lord,  who  hath  not  given  us  as  a  prey  to 
their  teeth. 

"Our  soul  is  escaped,  as  a  bird  out  of  the  snare  of  the 
fowlers,  the  snare  is  broken,  and  we  are  escaped. 

"Our  help  is  in  the  name  of  the  Lord,  who  made  heaven 
and  earth." 

"Who  hath  measured  the  waters  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand, 
and  meted  out  heaven  with  the  span,  and  comprehended  the 
dust  of  the  earth  in  a  measure,  and  weighed  the  mountains 
in  scales,  and  the  hills  in  a  balance?" 


"It  is  he  that  sitteth  upon  the  circle  of  the  earth,  and  the 
inhabitants  thereof  are  as  grasshoppers;  that  stretcheth  out 
the  heavens  as  a  curtain,  and  spreadeth  them  out  as  a  tent 
to  dwell  in."— Is.  xl,  12,  22. 


*  Our  Authorized  Version  unfortunately  bears  the  name  of 
King  James  I;  but,  as  it  was  begun  in  the  second  year  after  h« 
came  to  the  throne,  and  finished  in  the  eighth,  even  the  royal 
authority  could  provide  no  scholars  or  translators,  except  those 
trained  and  ripened  under  Elizabeth's  reign. 


324  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

Here  the  subjects  are  unimportant  pronouns;  it  is 
the  successive  predicates  that  bring  out  the  fulness  and 
majesty  of  the  divine  power. 

LONG  AND  SHORT  SENTENCES 

Apart  from  the  subject  and  predicate,  as  making  up 
the  sentence,  there  are  questions  of  the  form  of  the  sen- 
tence as  a  whole,  that  deserve  to  be  considered  in  rela- 
tion to  perspicuity.  Long  and  short  sentences  are 
relative  terms,  of  no  definitely  established  meaning. 

"The  average  English  sentence  nowadays  is  said  to  con- 
tain about  thirty  words ;  any  sentence  over  fifty  words  would 
probably  be  called  long,  any  sentence  under  twenty  words 
would  be  termed  short.  Moreover,  if  a  writer  habitually 
used  sentences  averaging  over  fifty  words,  his  sentences  would 
be  conspicuous  for  their  length ;  if  an  average  of  twenty,  the 
reverse  would  be  true."  * 

The  long  sentence  may  be  as  perspicuous  as  the  short, 
but  there  is  always  danger  that  it  will  not  be.  The  un- 
skilled author  may  lose  his  way  in  it,  and  the  most  skil- 
ful may  lose  the  clear  sense  of  relation  and  connection, 
as  the  later  words  in  long  succession  draw  away  his  own 
attention  from  the  earlier.  This  is  a  cause  of  faults  of 
style  that  is  often  overlooked.  Then,  too,  there  are  al- 
ways many  hearers  or  readers  unable  to  follow  a  long 
sentence,  however  perfectly  constructed,  so  as  to  grasp 
the  entire  meaning  from  start  to  finish.  Hence,  the 
orator  or  author  most  adept  with  the  long  sentence  will 
often  do  well  to  divide  it,  that  the  average  reader  or 
hearer  may  the  better  catch  his  meaning.  It  is  to  be 
added  that  a  series  of  long  sentences  is  tiresome,  and 
weariness  is  fatal  to  perspicuity.  The  drowsy  watcher 
may  fail  to  see  what  is  clearly  before  him.  Never 

*Brewster:    "English  Composition  and  Style,"  p.  228. 


SENTENCE-CONSTRUCTION  325 

deaden  interest,  if  you  would  be  sure  of  being  under- 
stood. 

Those  skilled  in  addressing  children  commonly  use 
short  sentences,  as  well  as  simple  words,  showing  that 
the  short  sentence  is,  as  a  rule,  easier  to  understand. 
Yet  an  unbroken  series  of  short  sentences  becomes  diffi- 
cult to  follow.  On  the  ground  of  taste,  such  a  series  is 
censured  as  having  a  "choppy"  effect.  But  on  the 
ground  of  perspicuity,  its  fault  is,  that  the  connection 
is  dimmed  by  the  incessant  breaks  at  the  sentence-ends, 
which  hinder  the  mind  from  gaining  a  complete  idea  of 
the  whole. 

Hence,  all  authorities  are  agreed  that  the  best  effect 
is  produced  by  alternation  and  interchange  of  long  and 
short  sentences,  where  the  pleasing  variety  keeps  atten- 
tion alert,  neither  strained  too  continuously,  nor  inter- 
rupted too  often.  Where  longer  sentences  have  led  up 
to  a  conclusion,  a  sudden  summary  of  that  conclusion 
in  one  short  sentence  is  often  very  effective;  and  con- 
versely, where  items  have  been  accumulated  by  a  series 
of  short  sentences,  great  power  is  often  attained  by 
gathering  the  result  of  all  into  one  longer  concluding 
sentence.  Judgment,  taste,  and  study  of  the  best  liter- 
ary models  are  needed  to  enable  one  to  combine  variety 
and  unity,  so  as  to  win,  not  only  beauty,  vividness,  and 
force,  but  the  height  of  perspicuity.  A  fine  example  of 
such  felicitous  combination  appears  in  the  closing  para- 
graph of  Lincoln's  "First  Inaugural  Address:" 

"I  am  loth  to  close.  We  are  not  enemies,  but  friends.  We 
must  not  be  enemies.  Though  passion  may  have  strained, 
it  must  not  break,  our  bonds  of  affection.  The  mystic  cords 
of  memory,  stretching  from  every  battle-field  and  patriot 
grave  to  every  living  heart  and  hearthstone  all  over  this 
broad  land,  will  yet  swell  the  chorus  of  the  Union,  when 


326  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

again  touched,  as  surely  they  will  be,  by  the  better  angels 
of  our  nature." 

While  the  division  of  sentences  into  "long"  or 
"short"  is  mechanical,  the  division  into  "loose"  or 
"periodic"  is  structural.  The  loose  sentence  sets  forth 
some  leading  thought  up  to  the  point  where  the  sen- 
tence might  readily  end.  Then  a  new  thought  is  added 
by  a  new  clause,  and  perhaps  another  and  another,  all 
either  limiting  or  completing  the  effect  of  the  leading 
clause,  until  the  statement  is  measurably  complete. 
These  added  features  are  not  liable  to  the  criticism 
passed  upon  the  misconnected  "trailing  clause."  They 
really  add  to  the  effect  of  the  original  statement,  with 
which  they  are  closely  and  vitally  connected.  It  is  so 
that  we  express  ourselves  in  ordinary  conversation  and 
offhand  writing,  following  the  natural  advance  and  as- 
sociation of  thought  from  point  to  point.  Hence  a  loose 
sentence,  when  well  constructed — perhaps  with  pains- 
taking care — tends  to  an  appearance  of  naturalness  and 
ease.  Addison  is,  in  English  literature,  the  supreme 
artist  of  the  loose  sentence,  weaving  together  clause 
after  clause  in  a  succession  always  graceful  and  pleas- 
ing, sometimes  lightly  touching  the  fashions  or  follies 
of  the  passing  day,  yet  often  embodying  great  intrinsic 
power,  half-veiled  by  seeming  ease,  as  a  masterly  ath- 
lete smilingly  performs  some  difficult  feat  with  no  ap- 
pearance of  exertion.  In  more  recent  times,  Irving  at- 
tained much  of  this  skill  in  lighter  literature,  while 
Lincoln  carried  it  into  those  orations  and  state  papers 
marked  by  combination  of  power  of  thought  with  feli- 
city of  expression,  which  have  won  him  immortal  re- 
nown. A  fine  specimen  of  Addison 's  more  serious  style 
may  be  quoted  here: 


SENTENCE-CONSTRUCTION  327 

"I  was  yesterday  about  sunset  walking  in  the  open  fields, 
till  the  night  insensibly  fell  upon  me.  I  at  first  amused 
myself  with  all  the  richness  and  variety  of  colors  which  ap- 
peared in  the  western  part  of  heaven;  in  proportion  as  they 
faded  away  and  went  out,  several  stars  and  planets  appeared 
one  after  another,  until  the  whole  firmament  was  in  a  glow. 
The  blueness  of  the  aether  was  exceedingly  heightened  and 
enlivened  by  the  season  of  the  year,  and  by  the  rays  of  all 
those  luminaries  that  passed  through  it.  The  galaxy  ap- 
peared in  its  most  beautiful  white.  To  complete  the  scene, 
the  full  moon  rose  at  length  in  that  clouded  majesty  which 
Milton  takes  notice  of,  and  opened  to  the  eye  a  new  picture 
of  nature,  which  was  more  finely  shaded,  and  disposed  among 
softer  lights,  than  that  which  the  sun  had  before  discovered 
to  us. 

"As  I  was  surveying  the  moon  walking  in  her  brightness, 
and  taking  her  progress  among  the  constellations,  a  thought 
rose  in  me  which  I  believe  very  often  perplexes  and  disturbs 
men  of  serious  and  contemplative  natures.  David  himself 
fell  into  it  in  that  reflection,  'When  I  consider  thy  heavens, 
the  work  of  thy  fingers,  the  moon  and  the  stars  which  thou 
hast  ordained,  what  is  man  that  thou  art  mindful  of  him? 
and  the  son  of  man  that  thou  regardest  him  ?' " 

—"Spectator,"  No.  565. 

Thus  Addison,  under  the  guise  of  a  casual  descrip- 
tion of  an  evening  walk,  introduces  his  serious  paper  on 
"The  Omniscience  and  Omnipresence  of  the  Deity," 
which  would  not  have  been  read  by  the  men  and  women 
to  whom  it  was  addressed,  if  it  had  begun  in  solemn 
metaphysical  or  theological  style.  The  periodic  sen- 
tence, on  the  other  hand,  distributes  as  deftly  as  may 
be  along  its  course,  all  modifiers  and  clauses  of  limita- 
tion or  emphasis,  and,  then,  at  the  very  last,  brings  in 
the  essential  statement  of  the  predicate  as  at  once  the 
closing  and  the  concluding  thought.  Thus: 

"Before  the  mountains  were  brought  forth,  or  ever  thou 
hadst  formed  the  earth  and  the  world,  even  from  everlast- 
ing to  everlasting,  thou  art  God." — Ps.  xc,  2. 


328  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

The  periodic  sentence  is  never  complete  until  the  close. 
The  mind  is  held  in  suspense, — perhaps  eager  suspense, 
— till  the  final  words  answer  its  waiting  question — what 
then?  Many  of  our  greatest  speakers  and  writers  have 
loved  the  long,  cumulative  period,  where  successive 
thoughts  are  cunningly  woven  in  through  subordinate 
clauses,  till  one  emphatic  and  masterful  utterance 
rounds  out  all  at  the  close.  When  a  long  sentence  of 
this  type  is  thus  complete  from  start  to  finish,  it  em- 
bodies marvelous  power.  The  thought  has  been  un- 
folded item  by  item,  till  each  has  made  its  separate  im- 
pression on  the  mind  of  hearer  or  reader;  then  all  are 
bound  together  by  one  conclusion,  which  masses  the  ac- 
cumulated impression  of  the  whole,  as  the  edge  of  the 
ax  strikes  with  the  impact  of  all  the  mass  of  steel  be- 
hind it.  A  sentence  of  this  type,  if  well  constructed, 
will  be  for  a  vigorous  and  well-trained  mind  in  the 
highest  degree  perspicuous. 

But  such  combination  of  unity  with  clearness  through 
an  extended  period  is  possible  only  for  the  speaker  or 
writer  of  thorough  training,  sound  judgment,  and 
clearness  of  thought.  Even  he  may  be  compelled  to 
recognize  that  many  hearers  or  readers  will  be  unable 
to  follow  clearly  to  the  end  a  long  periodic  sentence^ 
and  be  fain  for  their  sakes  to  break  it  up.  The  writer 
has  more  freedom  in  this  respect  than  the  orator,  be- 
cause readers,  with  the  page  before  them,  can  turn  back 
and  reread  the  words  until  all  is  clear.  Yet,  even  of 
this,  all  but  readers  of  highly  disciplined  minds  become 
impatient,  if  compelled  to  do  it  too  often;  so  that  the 
author  capable  of  fashioning  the  sustained  periodic 
sentence  will  do  well  to  use  it  sparingly,  making  simpler 
sentences  his  staple,  and  reserving  the  stately  periods 
for  the  strategic  points.  The  inexperienced  speaker  or 


SENTENCE-CONSTRUCTION  329 

writer  may  well  beware  of  such  constructions,  in  which 
he  may  even  chance  to  lose  his  own  way.  He  will  do 
best  to  rely  upon  separate  sentences  of  moderate  length, 
each  of  which  he  is  sure  he  can  handle.  Then,  for  cumu- 
lative power,  let  these  be  made  to  follow  each  other 
toward  one  conclusion,  like  rank  after  rank  of  a  charg- 
ing army. 

Perhaps  the  supreme  master  of  the  long,  cumulative 
periodic  sentence,  in  the  English  language,  is  Edmund 
Burke.  A  fine  example  of  unity  with  clearness  main- 
tained throughout  such  a  sentence  appears  in  his  ' '  Con- 
ciliation with  America : ' ' 

"Such  is  steadfastly  my  opinion  of  the  absolute  necessity 
of  keeping  up  the  concord  of  the  empire  by  a  unity  of  spirit 
through  a  diversity  of  operations  [here  the  mind  can  easily 
wait  for  the  conclusion  to  tell  what  the  'such'  means],  that 
if  I  were  sure  the  colonists  had,  on  leaving  this  country, 
sealed  a  regular  compact  of  servitude ;  that  they  had  solemnly 
abjured  all  the  rights  of  citizens;  that  they  had  made  a  vow 
to  renounce  all  ideas  of  liberty  for  them  and  their  posterity 
to  all  generations  [here  we  are  brought  to  a  crowning  point 
of  expectancy,  with  the  question  rushing  upon  the  mind.  'If 
all  this,  what  then?'  and  the  swift  answer  comes  to  the 
mind  eagerly  waiting  for  it],  YET  I  should  hold  myself 
obliged  to  conform  to  the  temper  I  found  universally  preva- 
lent in  my  own  day  [not  yet  fully  telling,  but  foreshadowing 
the  conclusion,  of  which  the  waiting  mind  catches  a  premoni- 
tion], and  to  govern  two  millions  of  men,  impatient  of 
servitude,  ON  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  FREEDOM." 

To  that  exalted  "freedom"  the  whole  sentence  has 
been  leading  up.  Precedents,  practises,  or  statutes  of 
compulsion  amount  to  nothing.  He  has  devised  a  case 
stronger  than  the  advocates  of  tyranny  could  have  im- 
agined, of  accepted  and  stipulated  colonial  servitude, 
and  swept  it  aside  with  that  defiant  "yet",  and  so 


330  EXPRESSIVE   ENGLISH 

moved  on  to  the  grandest  and  strongest  concluding 
word,  leaving  last  in  the  thought  of  every  hearer  or 
reader,  to  abide  when  all  else  has  been  said,  lofty,  en- 
during, triumphant,  "the  principles  of  freedom." 


CHAPTER  XV 

CLEARNESS  OF  STYLE— IV 
BY   ITEMS   OF   CONSTRUCTION 

Various  parts  of  speech  deserve  attention  by  and  for 
themselves  as  related  to  perspicuity. 

I.  NOUNS 

Nouns  are  the  great  basal  blocks  of  which  sentences 
and  paragraphs  are  built.  Of  them  it  is  perhaps  enough 
to  say  that  nouns  should  be  used  directly  and  squarely 
for  what  they  mean.  The  homely  and  familiar  rule 
to  "call  a  spade  a  spade"  is  never  outgrown  nor  out- 
worn. It  may  at  some  time  be  convenient,  in  order  to 
avoid  repetition,  to  call  the  "spade"  a  "tool"  or  an 
"implement,"  but  never  so  as  to  disguise  the  fact  that 
it  is  a  "spade."  If  the  phrase  "a  garden  implement" 
is  so  used  as  to  leave  the  hearer  or  reader  to  guess 
whether  a  hoe,  shovel,  rake,  trowel,  or  a  simple  "spade" 
is  meant,  then  such  ambiguous  phrase  is  inimical  to 
perspicuity.  Thus  Blair  says  of  Lord  Shaftesbury: 

"If  he  has  occasion  to  mention  any  person  or  author,  he 
very  rarely  mentions  him  by  his  proper  name.  .  .  .  He 
descants  for  two  or  three  pages  together  upon  Aristotle, 
without  once  naming  him  in  any  other  way  than  'the  Master 
Critic,'  the  'Mighty  Genius  and  Judge  of  Art,'  the  'Prince 
of  Critics,'  the  'Grand  Master  of  Art,'  and  the  'Consummate 
Philologist.' " 

So,  Ruskin  remarks  that,  during  the  famine  in  Ire- 
land, certain  clergymen  of  the  Church  of  England 
preached  upon  the  sufferings  of  the  Irish  people,  but  it 

331 


332  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

would  never  do  to  mention  the  "potato,"  much  less  the 
' '  potato  rot ; "  so  they  spoke  of  the  famine  as  caused  by 
"the  failure  of  that  esculent,  on  which  it  has  pleased 
Divine  Providence  that  the  sustenance  of  a  large  part 
of  the  human  race  should  depend." 

The  choice  of  a  noun  for  a  certain  purpose  is  often  a 
matter  of  elegance,  delicacy,  fitness,  or  force,  but  always 
first  and  foremost  of  clearness.  The  question  what  noun 
to  use  may  involve  a  skilful  balancing  of  synonyms.  In 
some  description,  for  instance,  the  "grass,"  the  "sod," 
or  the  "turf"  may  be  equally  clear  and  the  choice 
among  these  words  may  depend  upon  the  special  turn 
of  thought,  the  connection  with  other  words,  or,  as  in 
poetry,  the  harmony  or  melody  of  the  passage;  but 
whether  we  shall  say  the  "field,"  the  "lawn,"  or  the 
"roadside,"  depends  absolutely  on  the  scene  we  are  de- 
picting, and  no  one  of  these  latter  words  can  be  inter- 
changed with  either  of  the  others.  That  the  noun  shall 
carry  the  exact  meaning  to  be  expressed  is  the  demand 
of  perspicuity;  the  choice  among  those  that  are  equally 
clear  is  to  be  made  for  other  reasons. 

II.  PRONOUNS 

Pronouns  for  careless  writers  are  a  very  special  snare. 
He,  him,  his,  may  refer  to  any  male  being  whatever; 
she,  her,  hers,  to  any  female;  it  and  its,  to  any  inani- 
mate object  or  abstract  noun,  to  a  little  child,  or  even  to 
an  entire  clause  or  sentence.  Hence,  if  there  are  in  a 
sentence  two  or  more  nouns  of  the  same  gender,  the  ref- 
erence of  the  pronoun  may  become  very  confusing. 
Thus  in  "Lisias  promised  his  father  never  to  abandon 
his  friends,"  makes  us  ask,  "Whose  friends?  His  own 
or  his  father's?  "Mrs.  Jones  said  to  her  daughter  that 
perhaps  she  might  go  to  the  city  for  the  zephyr  she 


ITEMS    OF    CONSTRUCTION  333 

needed  to  finish  the  cushion  for  her  sister's  Christmas 
present."  We  ask:  Who  "might  go  to  the  city?"  Who 
needed  the  "zephyr?"  Whose  "sister"  was  to  have  the 
"present?"  If  a  personal  reminiscence  may  be  allowed, 
the  author  might  mention  that  he  read  the  sentence 
above  given  to  a  very  intelligent  lady,  who  instantly 
answered,  "That's  perfectly  clear;  there's  no  trouble 
about  that."  To  the  questions,  "Who  might  go  to  the 
city?  Who  needed  the  zephyr?  etc.,"  she  replied, 
"Why,  she."  To  the  further  question,  "Which  she?" 
the  answer  was, ' '  Why,  the  one  who  is  speaking. ' '  Thus 
it  would  appear  that  feminine  intuition  has  a  capacity 
of  understanding  such  enigmatic  utterances,  to  which 
the  merely  critical  intellect  cannot  attain.  But  it  may 
be  a  question  whether  misunderstandings,  and  even 
doubts  of  veracity,  may  not  sometimes  arise  in  the  re- 
porting of  such  conversations,  where  syntax  is  so 
shadowy  a  guide  to  sense.  Dr.  Blair  quotes  from  Arch- 
bishop Tillotson  the  following  almost  hopeless  sentence: 

"Men  look  with  an  evil  eye  upon  the  good  that  is  in 
others;  and  think  that  their  reputation  obscures  them,  and 
their  commendable  qualities  stand  in  their  light;  and  there- 
fore they  do  what  they  can  to  cast  a  cloud  over  them,  that 
the  bright  shining  of  their  virtues  may  not  obscure  them." 

This  can  scarcely  be  made  clear  to  oneself,  even  by  re- 
reading, and  it  was  uttered  in  a  sermon,  where  no  re- 
reading was  possible.  To  avoid  su?h  confusion,  there 
are  four  expedients: 

1.  Change  the  number  of  one  of  the  antecedents. 
Then  the  reference  of  the  singular  and  of  the  plural 
pronoun  will  become  perfectly  clear.  Thus,  in  the  sen- 
tence just  quoted,  substitute  "another"  for  "others," 
when  the  sentence  will  read: 


334  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

"Men  look  with  an  evil  eye  upon  the  good  that  is  in  an- 
other, and  think  that  his  reputation  obscures  them,  and  his 
commendable  qualities  stand  in  their  light;  and  therefore 
they  do  what  they  can  to  cast  a  cloud  over  him,  that  the 
bright  shining  of  his  virtues  may  not  obscure  them." 

2.  Change  the  person  of  one  of  the  antecedents  by 
using  direct,  instead  of  indirect,  quotation.    Thus: 

"Lisias  promised  his  father,  I  will  never  abandon 
your  friends," — if  that  is  the  meaning;  or,  "my 
friends, ' '  if  that  is  the  intent. 

"Mrs.  Jones  said  to  her  daughter,  'Perhaps  I  may  go 
to  the  cityV'  etc., — if  that  is  the  meaning;  or,  "  'Per- 
haps you  may  go',"  etc.  In  either  case  there  will  be  no 
doubt  of  the  meaning  intended. 

3.  Repeat  the  noun,  if  there  is  danger  of  ambiguity. 
Thus,  the  following  sentence  is  thoroughly  ambiguous: 
"For  the  lad  can  not  leave  his  father;  for  if  he  should 
leave  him,  he  would  die."     Who  would  die?  the  lad, 
or  his  father?    But  take  it  as  actually  given  in  the  Au- 
thorized Version  of  the  Scriptures,  in  that  moving  plea 
of  Judah  for  his  younger  brother,  Benjamin,  and  the 
reference  is  perfectly  plain: 

'Tor  the  lad  cannot  leave  his  father;  for  if  he  should 
leave  his  father,  his  father  would  die." — Gen.  xliv,  22. 

Here,  the  threefold  repetition  of  the  noun  is  not  offen- 
sive, because  it  removes  every  shadow  of  ambiguity,  and 
the  pleasure  of  absolute  transparency  causes  that  to  be 
approved,  which  otherwise  would  be  censured ;  for  mani- 
fest utility  is  also  an  element  of  beauty. 

4.  Divide  the  Sentence. — The  antecedent  probability 
of  clearness  is  always, — as  stated  in  the  preceding  chap- 
ter,— in  favor  of  two  or  more  short  sentences  as  against 
one  long  one.    Often  the  division  of  the  sentence  is  the 


ITEMS    OF    CONSTRUCTION  335 

only  way  to  get  rid  of  a  seemingly  false  reference  of  a 
pronoun.  Sometimes  the  same  purpose  can  be  accom- 
plished by  a  resumptive  break  within  the  sentence, 
bringing  the  antecedent  out  from  a  crowd  of  words,  to 
stand  alone  as  the  one  element  to  which  the  pronoun 
must  refer.  Thus : 

"A  good  book  gives  a  workingman  something  to  think  of 
besides  the  mere  mechanical  drudgery  of  his  daily  occupa- 
tion, which  he  can  enjoy  while  away  from  home,  and  look 
forward  with  pleasure  to  return  to." 

Is  it  his  "daily  occupation"  or  the  " mechanical 
drudgery  of"  of  it,  "which  he  can  enjoy  while  away 
from  home?"  We  know  it  can  not  be  either  of  those, 
and  by  reading  or  thinking  back,  we  see  that  the  ante- 
cedent of  that  "which"  must  be  "something;"  but  that 
"something"  is  a  long  way  off.  If  we  are  listening  to 
a  speaker,  we  shall  probably  lose  his  next  sentence, 
while  trying  to  recover  that  connection ;  and  if  we  are 
reading  a  book,  the  recovery  is  still  a  hindrance  and  a 
vexation.  Now,  break  that  sentence,  and  bring  the  an- 
tecedent into  obvious  connection  with  its  pronoun,  and 
all  is  clear: 

"A  good  book  gives  the  workingman  something  to  think  of 
besides  the  mere  mechanical  drudgery  of  his  daily  occu- 
pation,— something  which  he  can  enjoy  while  he  is  away 
from  home,  and  look  forward  with  pleasure  to  return  to." 

How  simple  the  device,  yet  how  perfect  the  effect! 
The  thought  is  clear  on  the  instant.  The  idea  has  en- 
tered the  mind  by  its  own  momentum.  It  is  there,  and 
we  are  free  to  go  on  to  the  next  suggestion.  The  rela- 
tive pronoun  is  an  especial  sinner  in  this  respect.  Dr. 
Blair  quotes  the  following  sentence  from  one  of  Bishop 
Sherlock's  sermons: 


336  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

"It  is  folly  to  pretend  to  arm  ourselves  against  the  acci- 
dents of  life  by  heaping  up  treasures,  which  nothing  can 
protect  us  against  but  the  good  providence  of  our  heavenly 
Father." 

As  if  the  good  providence  of  our  heavenly  Father 
were  to  protect  us  against  "treasures!"  Again  from 
Dean  Swift: 

"Many  act  so  directly  contrary  to  this  method,  that  from 
a  habit  of  saving  time  and  paper,  which  they  acquired  at 
the  University,  they  write  in  so  diminutive  a  manner,  that 
they  can  hardly  read  what  they  have  written." 

It  was  not,  as  would  at  first  appear,  "time  and  pa- 
per," which  "they  acquired  at  the  University,"  but  the 
* '  habit  of  saving. ' '  In  connection  with  this  it  is  well  tof 
bear  in  mind  one  important  rule,  which  is  almost  with- 
out exception,  namely:  Do  not  make  a  relative  clause 
dependent  upon  another  relative  clause.  The  result  is 
almost  sure  to  be  confusion  and  obscurity.  Thus : 

"On  my  way  to  town  I  met  a  farmer,  who  was  talking- 
with  a  little  girl,  who  carried  a  basket  on  her  arm,  which 
contained  some  eggs,  which  she  was  taking  to  her  grand- 
mother, who  lived  in  a  cottage,  which  was  hidden  from 
view  by  an  orchard,  which  adjoined  the  road,  which  led  to 
the  town,  which  was  founded  in  1640  by  settlers  from  Eng- 
land, who  fled  from  the  persecution  of  Archbishop  Laud, 
which  led  to  the  Cromwellian  conflict,  which,  etc." 

And  so  we  come  with  the  deadly  certainty  of  Mr. 
Dick's  Memorial  to  "the  head  of  Charles  I,"  then  we 
might  append  an  epitome  of  the  system  of  government 
of  England  and  of  the  United  States,  and  proceed, 
"which  differs  from  that  of  China,  which,"  etc., — until 
that  adventurous  and  persistent  relative  should  have 
circumnavigated  the  world,  "which  is  but  a  minor 


ITEMS    OF    CONSTRUCTION  337 

planet  of  the  solar  system,  which," — here  would  come 
in  the  Copernican  hypothesis,  with  a  side-glance  at  the 
Ptolemaic  theory,  "which  has  been  long  since  super- 
seded by  the  sublime  and  ingenious  system  of  Laplace, 
which  embraces,"  and  we  have  still  before  us  all  the 
immensity  of  space,  with  all  that  it  contains,  to  be 
treated  within  the  limits  of  our  yet  unfinished  sentence. 

The  trouble  with  a  certain  class  of  writers  is,  that 
when  they  have  once  embarked  upon  a  sentence,  they 
feel  that  there  will  never  be  a  chance  for  another.  That 
sentence  stands  to  them,  like  Mrs.  Partington  's  definition 
of  "order,"  as  "a  place  for  everything  and  everything 
in  it. ' '  Somehow,  all  that  their  minds  for  the  time  con- 
tain must  be  marshaled  within  the  confines  of  that  ill- 
fated  sentence,  and  they  are  seeking  for  connectives, 
while  the  real  object  of  their  quest  should  be  a  period. 
There  are  limits  to  the  human  capacity,  whether  of  ex- 
position or  of  apprehension,  so  that,  after  a  moderate 
number  of  particulars  have  been  given,  one  may  be  very 
sure  that,  if  a  new  thought  is  worth  adding,  it  is  worth 
a  separate  sentence.  If  it  is  not  worth  a  separate  sen- 
tence, drop  it. 

One  of  the  very  smallest  of  the  pronouns  contains 
deadliest  possibilities.  The  little  word  it,  already  re- 
ferred to  as  an  introductory  particle  on  page  177,  may 
refer  to  any  inanimate  object  whatsoever  or  to  any  ab- 
stract idea ;  it  may  be  used  impersonally,  as  in  the  ex- 
pressions, "it  is  cold,"  "it  rains,"  "it  is  likely,"  etc. ;  or 
it  may  refer  to  an  entire  preceding  statement;  as,  "Do 
you  intend  to  buy  that  lot  for  the  college?"  "I  intend 
to  do  it  at  once;" — where  the  antecedent  of  it  is  not  the 
lot  or  the  college,  but  the  act  specified  in  the  question. 
Hence,  it,  if  carelessly  used,  may  become  a  most  fruit- 
ful source  of  error.  Take  the  following  incoherent  note : 


338  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

"I  lost  my  knife  in  the  garden,  and  it  is  so  large,  and  so 
full  of  weeds,  that  I  have  gone  all  through  it  without  find- 
ing it,  and  may  have  stepped  over  it  without  knowing  it. 
It  is  nearly  dark  now,  and  I  must  leave  it,  and  it  is  likely 
to  rain  before  I  can  go  out  into  it  in  the  morning,  though  I 
intend  to  do  it  as  soon  as  it  is  light  enough  to  see  it,  if  it 
is  anywhere  in  it." 

For  a  less  flagrant  example,  consider  the  following: 

"The  French  wits  have,  for  this  last  age,  been  wholly 
turned  to  the  refinement  of  their  style  and  language,  and, 
indeed,  with  such  success  that  it  can  hardly  be  equaled, 
and  runs  equally  through  their  verse  and  their  prose." 

Here  are  four  nouns,  to  either  of  which  the  "it"  may 
refer.  Does  the  author  mean  that  the  "success"  "can 
hardly  be  equaled."  or  the  French  "language"  or 
"style,"  or  the  "refinement"  of  either  or  both?  As  we 
read  on,  we  see  that  it  must  be  the  "refinement,"  since 
it  "runs  equally  through  their  verse  and  their  prose." 
We  at  last  understand  the  meaning,  but  there  is  a  lack 
of  perspicuity  in  the  style  which  requires  so  much  re- 
reading and  analysis  to  make  it  intelligible.  A  minor 
fault  in  the  use  of  it  consists  in  employing  the  pronoun 
at  the  end  of  a  sentence  to  denote  some  definite  thing, 
and  then  beginning  the  next  sentence  with  an  imper- 
sonal it,  which  simply  denotes  a  relation. 

"There  is  another  matter  so  important,  that  we  must  give 
some  attention  to  it.  It  is  incomprehensible  that  it  has  so 
often  been  overlooked." 

Our  first  thought  is,  Why  should  we  be  required  to 
give  attention  to  it,  if  it  is  incomprehensible?  Ah,  but 
you  must  read  the  whole  sentence.  Then  you  will  per- 
ceive that  it  is  not  the  "matter,"  but  the  fact  "that  it 
has  been  so  long  overlooked,"  that  is  "incomprehensi- 
ble." Yes,  and  just  for  this  reason  the  sentence  fails 


ITEMS    OF    CONSTRUCTION  339 

of  perspicuity,  because  it  is  necessary  to  check  one's 
first  impression,  and  hold  the  meaning  in  suspense  for 
correction  by  the  result  of  later  reading.  If  a  statement 
is  profound,  more  may  be  discovered  beneath  the  sur- 
face, but  on  the  surface  it  must  mean  something  intelli- 
gible. Even  paradox  gains  its  power  from  the  clearness 
with  which  the  false  meaning  is  first  presented  impell- 
ing the  mind  to  reach  out  for  the  true. 

There  are  few  more  important  rules  for  clearness  and 
precision  than  to  challenge  every  it,  and  make  sure  that 
an  adequate  reason  can  be  given  for  the  presence  and 
position  of  that  elusive  pronoun.  By  habit  a  careful 
writer  comes  to  do  this  instinctively,  so  that  a  misplaced 
it  jars  his  sensibility  like  a  false  note  in  music ;  but  the 
habit  must  be  formed  by  painstaking  care. 

III.  ADJECTIVES 

These  err  most  frequently  by  excess,  either  in  quality 
or  degree.  There  is  a  touch  of  the  emotional  about  the 
adjective,  so  that  it  is  readily  used  with  an  emphasis 
far  beyond  what  the  occasion  warrants.  The  number 
of  very  ordinary  objects  that  are  "splendid,"  "sump- 
tuous, "  "  gorgeous, "  ' '  magnificent, "  —  or  "  tremen- 
dous," "horrible,"  "dreadful,"  or  "awful," — passes 
computation.  The  effect  of  overemphasis  is  always  be- 
littling. In  the  recoil  the  mind  discards  too  much.  If 
one  were  to  speak  of  a  hero  as  appearing  "in  the  gor- 
geous panoply  of  khaki  uniform,"  the  effect  would  be 
satirical;  and  we  should  see  the  grim  plainness  of  the 
khaki  as  never  before,  by  contrast  with  the  fulsome  de- 
scription. But  if  one  were  to  speak  of  him  as  "  a  grand 
figure  in  the  simple  khaki  of  the  soldier,"  that  uniform 
would  gain  a  dignity  from  the  fitness  of  the  adjective 
that  described  it.  An  accumulation  of  many  adjectives 


340  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

produces  a  similar  reversal  of  effect,  as  if  we  were  to 
sav: 

"He  was  a  wise,  just,  broad-minded,  far-seeing,  vigorous, 
inflexible,  patriotic,  mighty,  true,  noble,  genuine  statesman." 

Here  the  word  "statesman"  is  belittled  before  we 
reach  it.  We  seem  to  come  down  upon  it  with  a  slump. 
The  feeling  is,  when  we  come  to  the  noun,  Is  that  all? 
We  have  lost  the  substantive  in  the  adjectives  that  were 
to  exalt  it.  See  how  instantly  the  effect  is  changed,  if 
we  omit  all  the  adjectives  but  one,  and  say,  "He  was  a 
true  statesman," — "a  genuine  statesman," — or  "a 
mighty  statesman."  At  once  the  noun  becomes  domi- 
nant,— "a  statesman,"  "true"  to  all  that  name  implies, 
— or  "mighty"  in  the  qualities  that  befit  that  great 
name.  Thus,  a  young  writer,  when  he  has  reluctantly 
cut  out  sonorous  adjectives  from  a  sentence,  finds, — 
often  to  his  great  surprise,  —  that  the  sentence  is 
stronger.  He  has  given  his  nouns  a  chance. 

This  is  a  matter  not  merely  of  taste,  strength,  or  force, 
but  of  clearness.  Every  deduction  that  the  mind  must 
make  from  the  language  used,  in  order  to  get  the 
thought,  involves  some  loss  of  perspicuity.  Attention 
to  minus  signs  makes  multiplication  more  difficult.  In 
the  case  of  numerous  adjectives,  the  scattering  of  at- 
tention dims  the  total  effect.  The  light  is  refracted  in 
so  many  directions  that  all  clearness  of  outline  is  lost. 

Hence  the  rule  for  the  adjective  is,  that  if  it  does  not 
do  good,  it  does  harm.  The  young  writer  of  any  imagi- 
native vividness  can  do  no  better  thing  than  to  go 
through  his  composition  and  strike  out  every  adjective 
that  can  be  spared.  Then,  those  that  he  keeps  for  good 
reasons  will  be  found  at  once  effective  and  clear. 

Another  item  to  remember  is,  that  the  adjective  has 


ITEMS    OF    CONSTRUCTION  341 

a  trick  of  fusing  with  its  noun  into  one  composite  idea. 
If  we  say  "a  spirited  white  horse"  we  do  not  mean  a 
horse  that  has  the  two  qualities  of  being  "spirited"  and 
of  being  "white,"  but  a  "white  horse"  that  has  the 
quality  of  being  ' '  spirited. ' '  Hence,  the  grammars  will 
tell  you  that  you  need  no  comma  between  "spirited" 
and  ' '  white, ' '  because  no  connective  is  understood.  The 
"spirited"  does  not  modify  the  noun  "horse"  alone, 
but  the  composite  idea  expressed  by  adjective  and  noun 
in  "white  horse."  Such  mental  combination  of  adjec- 
tive and  noun  may  easily  produce  confusion.  A  fol- 
lowing pronoun  may  seem  to  refer  to  the  noun  as  modi- 
fied by  the  adjective,  when  the  real  reference  is  to  the 
noun  alone. 

"The  intellectual  qualities  of  the  youth  were  superior  to 
those  of  his  raiment." 

What  were  the  "intellectual  qualities"  of  "his  rai- 
ment?" For  such  a  case,  the  best  rule  is,  Separate  the 
adjective  from  the  noun,  that  the  reference  to  the  noun 
may  be  unmistakable;  and  this  is  ordinarily  best  done 
by  converting  the  adjective  itself  into  a  noun.  Instead 
of  "the  intellectual  qualities  of  the  youth,"  say,  "the 
qualities  of  the  youth's  intellect;"  then  the  reference 
runs  smoothly, — "were  superior  to  those  of  his  raiment." 
In  the  old  days  of  "wild-cat"  banking,  Dan  Eice,  the 
famous  showman,  sent  to  Harper  &  Brothers  a  twenty- 
dollar  bill,  which  proved  to  be  spurious,  and  which 
they  returned  with  a  note  saying,  "This  bill  is  counter- 
feit. Send  us  another."  After  some  months  his  answer 
came  as  follows: 

"Gentlemen: — Pardon    delay.      Counterfeit    20's    on    the 
-bank  are  becoming  very  scarce,  but  I  have  at 


last  obtained  another,  which  I  send  herewith,   as  you  re- 
quest." 


342  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

Sometimes  such  confusion  is  best  avoided  by  repeating 
the  principal  noun,  sometimes  by  complete  change  of 
phrase,  as,  in  this  last  instance,  ' '  Send  us  a  good  one. ' ' 
It  may  be  mentioned  in  connection  with  this  matter 
that  English  is  intolerant  of  phrases  other  than  adjec- 
tives inserted  between  an  article  and  its  noun;  as,  "the 
never  to  be  sufficiently  lamented  and  only  very  recently 
clearly  comprehended  disaster," — or  similar  construc- 
tions sometimes  imported  from  the  German.  English, 
with  its  genius  for  freedom  and  simplicity,  objects  to 
waiting  for  its  noun  until  explanatory  and  limiting 
clauses  are  dynamited  from  its  path.  It  would  rather 
have  a  try  at  them  separately,  after  the  thing  immedi- 
ately in  hand  has  been  clearly  disposed  of  on  its  own 
merits,  saying,  for  instance:  "The  disaster,  which  can 
never  be  sufficiently  lamented,  and  which  has  only  very 
recently  been  clearly  comprehended." 

IV.  VERBS 

Of  verbs,  as  of  nouns,  the  chief  thing  to  say  is  that 
they  should  be  used  directly  and  squarely  for  what  they 
mean.  The  occasional  difficulty  in  the  agreement  of  a 
verb  with  its  subject  is  to  be  solved  by  the  rules  of  gram- 
mar. The  choice  of  one  verb  in  preference  to  another 
is  something  that  the  speaker  or  writer  must  determine 
on  each  occasion  by  his  own  sense  of  good  usage  or  by 
reference  to  the  dictionary  or  to  a  book  of  synonyms. 
Take,  for  instance,  the  following  little  list  of  synonyms : 

Decline,  descend,  droop,  drop,  fail,  faint,  fall,  lapse,  set, 
sink,  subside. 

It  would  be  easy  to  accumulate  passages  in  each  of 
which  some  one  of  these  verbs  would  be  preferable  to 
any  other  that  could  be  chosen  from  the  list.  The  rea- 


ITEMS    OF    CONSTRUCTION  343 

son  in  each  case  would  ordinarily  be  the  same,  that  in 
that  particular  connection,  the  verb  chosen  meant  most 
exactly  what  the  speaker  or  writer  wished  then  and 
there  to  express.  Such  choice  will  always  be  perspicu- 
ous— clear  beyond  all  rules. 

There  is,  however,  one  verbal  form,  the  participle, 
which  by  misuse  readily  produces  confusion  of  meaning. 
This  happens  when  the  participle  is  so  used  that  it  re- 
fers, or  seems  to  refer,  to  the  wrong  noun :  A  very  spir- 
ited and  entertaining  writer  of  a  certain  book  of  travels 
opens  his  account  of  a  carriage-tour  with  the  following 
explanatory  statement: 

"Not  expecting  us,  the  horses  had  been  turned  out  to 
pasture,  and  were  difficult  to  catch." 

Evidently  the  horses  should  have  been  notified  in  ad- 
vance. What  is  said  here  is  that,  as  the  horses  did  not 
expect  us,  they  had  been  turned  out  to  pasture;  what 
is  meant  is  that,  as  our  friends  did  not  expect  us,  the 
horses  had  been  turned  out  to  pasture.  The  participle, 
"expecting",  in  that  sentence,  can  onl%  agree  with 
^"horses ; "  it  was  meant  to  agree  with  a  noun  which  the 
writer  had  in  his  mind,  but  did  not  write;  hence  he 
wrote  nonsense.  The  sentence  intended  was: 

"Our  friends  not  expecting  us,  the  horses  had  been  turned 
out  to  pasture." 

That  would  have  been  correct,  though  a  trifle  clumsy. 
It  would  have  been  better  to  change  the  construction, 
and  write:  "As  our  friends  were  not  expecting  us," 
etc.  A  Washington  paper  brings  us  the  following  in- 
stance of  confusion: 

"Mr.  sustained  fractures  of  both  wrists,  and 

his  wife's  arm  was  broken  in  two  places,  in  addition  to 
receiving  a  severe  scalp-wound." 


344  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

How  the  "right  arm"  could  "receive  a  scalp-wound" 
passes  comprehension.  Evidently  a  new  pronoun 
should  have  been  supplied,  with  which  the  participle 
might  agree,  "she  also  receiving,"  etc.  Here  again  it 
would  be  better  to  change  the  construction,  writing, 
"and  she  also  received,"  etc.  In  some  way  it  must  be 
indicated  that  it  was  the  lady,  and  not  the  arm,  that 
received  the  "scalp-wound."  Over  and  over  again,  in 
analyzing  errors,  one  is  compelled  to  notice  how  many 
of  them  result  from  undue  economy  of  words.  Brevity 
must  always  yield  to  perspicuity. 

V.  ADVERBS 

The  danger  of  the  adverb  is  its  facility  of  adapta- 
tion. It  may  modify  a  verb,  an  adjective,  another  ad- 
verb,— yes,  or  even  a  noun,  though  the  grammars  are 
very  shy  of  saying  so.  In  the  line,  "Not  a  drum  was 
heard,  not  a  funeral  note," — etc.,  vainly  do  we  try  to 
attach  that  adverb  to  the  verb.  We  have  changed  the 
whole  statement  if  we  say,  "A  drum  was  not  heard." 
Was  it  sounded  then  ?  If  the  drum  was  not  heard,  what 
was  heard?  If  not  one  drum,  then  how  many?  We 
flounder  in  our  syntax  until  we  honestly  admit  that  the 
English  language  has  no  hesitation  in  attaching  an  ad- 
verb to  a  noun  or  pronoun,  when  it  can  so  best  deliver 
its  meaning.  A  considerable  list  may  be  found  of  ad- 
verbs which  readily  take  this  construction.  We  have 
only  to  believe  in  our  language,  and  raise  our  courage 
to  its  freedom. 

Since  the  adverb  has  so  many  affinities,  we  can  con- 
trol it  only  by  isolating  it  as  far  as  possible  from  words 
with  which  we  would  not  have  it  combine,  and  bringing 
it  as  close  as  possible  to  any  word  with  which  we  wish 


ITEMS   OF   CONSTRUCTION  345 

it  to  unite.  Clearness  in  the  use  of  this  part  of  speech 
requires  that  every  adverb  be  placed  as  near  as  possible 
to  the  word  it  is  intended  to  modify,  and  kept  as  far  as 
possible  away  from  any  word  it  is  not  to  affect.  If  we 
say,  "He  is  considered  generally  insane,"  we  imply 
that  he  is  insane  most  of  the  time,  or  in  most  of  his 
mental  activities;  if  we  mean,  as  is  probable,  that  the 
majority  of  people  view  him  as  mentally  unbalanced, 
we  shall  express  that  best  by  saying,  "He  is  generally 
considered  insane. ' '  If  one  remarks,  ' '  This  letter  needs 
to  be  rewritten  very  badly,"  he  has  not  expressed  his 
meaning.  The  letter  has  probably  been  already  written 
very  badly,  and  nothing  would  be  gained  by  having  it 
rewritten  in  the  same  way.  What  the  critic  meant  to 
say  was,  ' '  This  letter  very  badly  needs  to  be  rewritten. '  * 

Books  of  grammar  and  rhetoric  give  much  space  to 
the  placing  of  only,  and  certain  other  adverbs  and  ad- 
verbial phrases,  the  misplacing  of  which  may  change 
the  entire  meaning  of  a  sentence.  These  rules  are 
worthy  of  careful  study,  and  will  be  found  of  great 
value,  where  special  precision  is  required.  But  it  will 
be  found  that  too  minute  observance  of  these  precepts 
would  often  result  in  a  wooden  exactness  of  style  that 
would  seem  pedantic.  Public  speaking  may  approach 
the  freedom  of  conversation,  where  tone  and  emphasis 
are  often  a  sufficient  guide  to  the  reference  of  such 
words,  and  the  writer  may  trust  much  to  the  context 
and  the  reader's  common  sense.  The  use  of  the  rules 
is  to  keep  one  away  from  dangerous  shoals.  Especial 
care  must,  however,  be  taken  to  avoid  the  possible 
double  reference  of  an  adverb,  which  may  be  sometimes 
ambiguous. 

"The  hope  that  war  in  the  Balkans  might  be  averted 


346  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

virtually  has  been  abandoned,"  said  the  New  York 
Herald,  in  October,  1915.  Was  the  war  to  be  "virtually 
averted,"  or  had  the  hope  been  "virtually  abandoned"? 
"We  have  endeavored  to  meet  Mr.  Sanders 's  ques- 
tions, and  through  them  many  others  of  the  same  sort 
which  are  asked  us  fairly,  coolly,  and  dispassionately," 
said  the  New  York  Sun,  on  Sept.  9,  1915.  We  give  the 
punctuation  of  the  original.  It  will  be  seen  that  there 
is  nothing  in  the  passage  to  indicate  whether  the  ques- 
tions are  asked  "fairly,  coolly,  and  dispassionately," 
or  whether  the  editor  endeavors  to  meet  them  in  that 
spirit.  The  entire  editorial  from  which  the  passage  is 
quoted  would  indicate  that  either  or  both  might  be  true. 
But  which  was  specifically  intended?  In  neither  of 
these  instances  just  quoted  is  the  blemish  serious.  But 
in  the  following,  actually  clipped  from  the  "Pulpit 
Notices"  of  a  prominent  religious  paper,  the  misplace- 
ment of  an  adverbial  phrase  becomes  ludicrous:  "The 

Rev. is  about  to  leave  the  congregation  to 

which  he  has  ministered  for  the  past  eighteen  years 
to  their  deep  regret."  Evidently  the  congregation  were 
now  to  be  congratulated. 

VI.  CONNECTIVES 

These  are  notably  the  Preposition  and  Conjunction. 
The  importance  of  these  parts  of  speech  is  greater  in 
English  than  in  most  other  languages,  because  the  lack 
of  inflection  in  our  language  makes  more  to  depend  on 
connecting  particles.  Among  these  connectives  relative 
pronouns  and  relative  or  conjunctive  adverbs,  already 
mentioned,  are  to  be  considered.  The  proper  handling 
of  all  these  requires  careful  and  extended  study,  and — 
beyond  all  study  of  particular  words  and  phrases, — 
•wide  and  attentive  observation  and  reading.  There  is 


ITEMS   OF   CONSTRUCTION  347 

what  may  be  called  constructive  reading  and  listening, 
which  follows  speaker  or  author  through  spoken  word 
or  printed  page,  as  if  with  the  constant  silent  question, 
"How  does  he  do  it?"  What  makes  that  phrase  so 
felicitous?  Now  one  finds  the  answer  in  a  skilfully 
placed  preposition,  conjunction,  or  other  connective  at 
just  the  right  point;  or,  again,  in  the  skilful  avoidance 
of  any  connective  which  sets  unrelated  phrases  in  sharp 
distinction.  What  makes  some  other  sentence  harsh  and 
jarring?  Why,  it  is  that  misplaced,  ill-chosen,  or  lack- 
ing connective,  omitted  when  it  should  have  been  used, 
used  when  it  should  have  been  omitted,  or  when  another 
connective  would  have  better  expressed  the  meaning. 

This  does  not  involve  perpetual  note-taking.  That 
process,  valuable  as  it  is  at  times,  would,  in  constant 
use,  too  much  restrain  range  and  speed.  We  need  to 
hear  many,  very  many  good  speakers,  on  the  platform 
and  in  conversation,  and  to  read  numerous  books  worthy 
to  be  models ;  and  to  do  this  at  all,  it  must  be  done  with 
a  certain  rush.  We  must  get  what  we  can  in  the  flitting 
moment.  Besides,  alertness  is  an  end  in  itself.  Vivid 
attention  often  sees  more  than  laborious  analysis. 
When  in  constant  association  with  good  models,  one 
gains  much  by  mere  absorption,  as  good-  manners  are 
formed  by  moving  in  good  society.  In  a  matter  involv- 
ing so  many  and  such  diversified  items  as  the  connec- 
tives of  English  speech,  direct  instruction  must  be 
chiefly  effective  by  setting  the  observing,  imitative,  and 
inventive  faculties  vigorously  at  work.  Notes  when 
possible,  alert  observation  always. 

We  are  to  avoid  what  Campbell  has  called  "The  ob- 
scure by  defect, ' ' — of  which  he  gives  one  of  his  best  ex- 
amples under  a  different  heading.  He  quotes  from  the 
"Spectator"  the  sentence: 


348  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

"I  have  hopes  that  when  Will  confronts  him,  and  all  the 
ladies  in  whose  behalf  he  engages  him  cast  kind  looks  and 
wishes  at  their  champion,  he  will  have  some  chance." 

On  this  he  remarks: 

"The  first  part  of  the  sentence  suggests  that  Will  is  to 
confront  'all  the  ladies,'  but  afterwards  we  find  it  neces- 
sary to  construe  this  clause  with  the  following  verb.  This 
confusion  is  removed  at  once  by  repeating  the  (connective) 
adverb  'when';  as,  'I  have  hopes  that  when  Will  confronts 
him,  and  when  all  the  ladies  ....  cast  kind  looks, 
etc.' " 

In  the  following  sentence  obscurity  is  produced  by 
omission  of  the  connecting  relative,  that  or  which: 

"Ignorance,  inefficiency,  low  standards,  are  to  have  the 
money  high  worth  has  attained  showered  upon  them." 

—The  New  York  Sun,  Sept.  4,  1915. 

The  average  person  will  find  it  necessary  to  read  that 
sentence  twice,  in  order  to  get  the  meaning.  The  ob- 
scurity at  once  disappears  by  the  insertion  of  one  little 
connective  pronoun: 

"Ignorance,  inefficiency,  low  standards,  are  to  have  the 
money  that  high  worth  has  attained  showered  upon  them." 

In  contrast  with  this  lack  of  connectives,  is  to  be  noted 
their  excess,  which  is  wholly  vicious  as  connecting 
things  that  should  be  separated : 

"The  many  friends  of  Miss  will  be  glad  to 

know  that  she  is  to  accept  a  position  at  Pownal,  and  will 
leave  at  once." — The  Portland  Press. 

In  all  ordinary  courtesy,  the  fact  that  the  young  lady 
"will  leave  at  once"  should  be  dissociated  from  the 
"gladness"  of  her  friends. 

"Poli's  Palace  will  have  a  clever  bill  for  the  first  three 
days  of  the  week,  and  a  complete  change  on  Thursday." 

— The  Springfield  Republican. 


ITEMS    OF    CONSTRUCTION  349 

Evidently  those  interested  in  a  "clever  bill"  should 
hasten  to  attend  during  the  "first  three  days." 

Errors  such  as  these,  though  not  always  so  glaring, 
proceed  from  that  obsession  previously  adverted  upon 
(pp.  336-7)  of  getting  all  that  is  to  be  said  within  the 
confines  of  one  sentence  before  stopping  to  take  breath. 
There  is  often  no  connection  so  good  as  disconnection. 
The  ballad,  the  ode,  and  some  forms  of  narrative  often 
gain  power  by  omitting  incidents  and  neglecting  in- 
tervals that  the  mind  can  spring  across  without  a  bridge 
of  speech.  This  trait  has  often  been  remarked  upon  in 
the  plays  of  Shakespeare,  who  does  not  tell  us  that  Ham- 
let is  visionary  and  irresolute,  nor  that  Macbeth  alone 
sees  the  ghost  invisible  to  all  about  him.  In  Bayard 
Taylor's  "Song  of  the  Camp"  this  artistic  disconnec- 
tion is  used  with  great  effect : 

They  lay  along  the  battery's  side 

Below  the  smoking  cannon; 
Brave  hearts  from  Severn  and  from  Clyde, 

And  from  the  banks  of  Shannon. 

They  sang  of  love  and  not  of  fame; 

Forgot  was  Britain's  glory; 
Each  heart  recalled  a  different  name, 

But  all  sang  "Annie  Laurie." 

Voice  after  voice  caught  up  the  song, 

Until  its  tender  passion 
Rose  like  an  anthem,  rich  and  strong,— 

Their  battle-eve  confession. 

Dear  girl,  her  name  he  dared  not  speak, 

But,  as  the  song  grew  louder, 
Something  upon  the  soldier's  cheek 

Washed  off  the  stains  of  powder. 

Beyond  the  darkening  ocean  burned 

The  bloody  sunset's  embers, 
While  the  Crimean  valleys  learned 

How  English  love  remembers. 


350  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

And  once  again  a  fire  of  hell 

Rained  on  the  Russian  quarters, 
With  scream  of  shot  and  burst  of  shell, 

And  bellowing  of  the  mortars! 

And  Irish  Nora's  eyes  are  dim 

For  a  singer  dumb  and  gory, 
And  English  Mary  mourns  for  him 

Who  sang  of  "Annie  Laurie." 

Before  that  last  stanza,  how  sharp  a  break!  Nothing 
is  told  of  the  assault,  nor  whether  it  resulted  in  victory 
or  repulse.  There  is  no  list  of  casualties.  We  read  the 
conclusion  only  in  the  tears  and  grief  of  loving  hearts 
in  the  far  islands  beyond  the  sea.  But  who  would  wish 
to  fill  the  blank?  All  that  mind  or  heart  calls  for  is 
told.  We  ask  no  prosaic  particulars.  The  story,  while 
not  less  clear,  is  far  more  effective  for  its  well  timed 
reticence. 

In  ancient  building  the  entire  space  was  filled  with 
some  solid  material,  as  brick  or  stone,  the  mass  being 
depended  on  to  resist  all  varieties  of  strain  and  stress. 
Gradually  men  learned  to  leave  out  the  surplus  ma- 
terial, giving  open  spaces  by  column  and  arch;  and  in 
modern  building  the  various  lines  of  force  are  scientifi- 
cally calculated,  and  only  so  much  material  is  used  as  is 
necessary  to  resist  pressure,  stress,  and  thrust  where 
it  is  known  beforehand  that  they  will  fall,  while  all  the 
rest  of  the  structure  is  left  open  to  the  day.  So  a  good 
style  provides  support  for  the  advance  of  thought, 
wherever  doubt  or  uncertainty  or  confusion  might  arise, 
while  not  encumbering  itself  with  superfluous  words  or 
tedious  explanations.  A  style  in  which  well-chosen 
words  are  so  built  together  is  sure  to  be  perspicuous. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
THE  ART  OF  BREVITY 

There  is  a  brevity  measurable  by  the  clock  or  by  count 
'of  words,  which  may  be  called 

MECHANICAL   BREVITY 

Such  brevity  is  as  definite  and  positive  as  the  figures 
on  the  face  of  a  check,  and  often  as  obligatory.  If  six 
speakers  are  to  have  ten  minutes  each  in  a  meeting  of 
one  hour,  no  one  speaker  can  take  more  than  his  ten 
minutes  without  defrauding  another.  Then  technical, 
mechanical  brevity  is  simple  honesty.  You  have  no 
right  to  increase  your  own  time,  or  to  appropriate  the 
time  of  some  one  behind  you.  It  may  chance  to  be  no 
small  disappointment  to  some  later  speaker  to  be  driven 
to  present  something  he  has  much  at  heart  to  an  ex- 
hausted audience  chiefly  desirous  not  to  listen  to  an- 
other word  on  any  subject.  Simple  commercial  hon- 
esty has  place  on  the  platform  as  at  the  bank,  and  in 
the  former  case,  as  in  the  latter,  will  be  found  to  be 
"the  best  policy,"  for  each  speaker  shares  in  the  suc- 
cess of  the  whole  occasion.  The  writer  faces  a  similar 
requirement  under  still  more  imperious  rule. 

Physical  and  mechanical  necessities  do  largely  con- 
trol speaking  and  writing,  however  much  we  may  re- 
sent the  fact.  For  the  speaker  limited  to  a  certain  time, 
there  are  two  chief  rules : 

1.  Fix  in  mind  what  you  surely  want  to  say,  if  you 

351 


3f>2  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

say  nothing  else, — the  sine  qua  non, — and  somehow  get 
that  said. 

2.  Fix  in  mind  what  you  would  like  to  say  as  the  last 
word  in  the  last  minute,  and  watchfully  save  that  min- 
ute, in  which  to  say  that  thing. 

For  die  writer  the  rules  are  practically  the  same,  but 
with  the  advantage  that  he  can  go  back  over  his  work, 
and  force  place  for  the  essential  by  omitting  what  can 
be  better  spared.  The  power  of  concentrating  as  one 
writes  is  of  much  value,  and  can  be  largely  increased 
by  training  and  self-discipline. 

This,  however,  can  be  overdone.  Many  severely  brief 
paragraphs  give  the  reader  an  impression  of  forced 
condensation.  He  feels  and  winces  at  the  tightening  of 
the  screws.  Naturalness  is  absolutely  squeezed  out.  No 
writer  should  keep  himself  continuously  in  a  straight- 
jacket.  But  when  one  has  written  with  freedom  and 
naturalness,  it  is  astonishing  how  much  deliberate  word- 
pruning  can  do.  The  first  items  to  watch  are  adjectives 
and  adverbs.  You  have  spoken,  it  may  be,  of  "  a  violent 
storm"  or  "a  tremendous  peal  of  thunder."  But  a 
"storm"  is  likely  to  be  "violent,"  while  a  "peal  of 
thunder"  is  quite  sure  to  be  "tremendous."  You  may 
dispense  with  those  adjectives.  Or  you  have  said,  "I 
was  exceedingly  astonished."  But  one  who  is  aston- 
ished is  always  impressed  "exceedingly."  You  can 
spare  the  adverb.  Most  of  the  "very's"  can  be  relent- 
lessly extirpated.  You  will  be  surprized  at  the  gain  in 
strength  and  effectiveness  when  the  main  columns  are 
left  without  scaffolding.  Introductory  phrases  are 
often  needless.  The  saying,  "There  is  nothing  which 
so  soon  perverts  the  judgment,"  may  be  cut  to  "Noth- 
ing so  soon  perverts  the  judgment,"  and  be  better  for 
the  cutting.  ' '  There  are  many  persons  who  deny  this, ' ' 


THE    ART    OF    BREVITY  353 

is  more  forcible  in  the  form,  ' '  Many  persons  deny  this, ' ' 
or,  briefer  still,  "Many  deny  this."  Relative  pronouns 
and  relative  clauses  are  objects  of  suspicion.  Instead 
of  "John  Brown,  who  was  their  leader,"  write  "John 
Brown,  their  leader,"  or  "Their  leader,  John  Brown." 
On  the  other  hand,  an  extended  phrase  may  often  be 
reduced  to  an  adverb.  "At  that  particular  instant  of 
time"  may  be  sufficiently  accounted  for  by  the  adverb 
' '  then, ' '  or,  perhaps,  ' '  just  then. ' '  The  habit  of  study- 
ing concise  writings,  such  as  Bacon's  "Essays"  or  Lin- 
coln 's  ' '  Gettysburg  Oration ' '  or  the  best  state  papers  of 
England  and  America,  will  show  how  such  condensa- 
tion may  be  made,  and  develop  a  taste  for  its  concen- 
trated power, — yes,  and  beauty,  the  beauty  of  Doric 
architecture,  without  a  needless  line  to  mar  its  aspect 
of  grace  combined  with  boundless  strength. 

It  must  be  admitted,  however,  that  oftentimes  the 
difficulty  of  attaining  mechanical  brevity  is  not  in  per- 
formance, but  in  demand.  A  set  of  managers  with  110 
sense  of  humor  desire  simply  to  trot  out  the  lions  they 
have  in  captivity,  that  the  audience  may  actually  hear 
them  roar.  Then  they  rush  them  across  the  arena  at 
such  speed  that  they  can  not  even  roar  in  comfort. 

We  can  not  but  think  that  our  New  England  ancestors 
had  a  better  method  than  ours,  in  those  dark  days,  when, 
on  their  broad  farms  and  in  their  spacious  mansions, 
they  lived  that  "restricted  life,"  for  which  popular 
authors  caged  in  New  York  apartment  houses  now  pity 
them.  Being  without  the.elevating  influence  of ' '  moving ' ' 
pictures  and  the  tango  and  vaudeville,  and  not  having 
the  rapid-transit  facilities  of  our  day,  they  were  re- 
duced to  the  necessity  of  listening  for  an  entire  evening 
to  a  single  speaker,  such  as  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson, 
Henry  Ward  Beecher,  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  or  Ed- 


354  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

ward  Everett,  and  occasionally  devoting  half  a  day  to 
an  oration  of  Daniel  Webster.  Then,  in  their  homes, 
at  the  grocery  and  the  post-office,  across  the  farm  fences, 
and  along  the  roads,  they  would  discuss  the  brilliant  or 
mighty  thoughts  that  each  great  man  had  elaborated  in 
his  lecture,  comparing  each  successive  orator  with  those 
who  had  gone  before,  and  a  university  extension  course 
was  conducted  all  over  New  England.  So  the  "long- 
headed Yankees"  were  evolved, — men  capable  of  think- 
ing, and  of  thinking  things  through.  So,  too,  a  school 
of  orators  was  developed: — men  who  had  time  enough 
to  present  a  thought  in  various  lights,  to  sustain  it  by 
facts  and  arguments,  to  explain  it  by  helpful  illustra- 
tions, and  to  light  it  up  by  images  of  beauty.  Those 
leaders  of  men  could  never  have  elaborated  their  high 
thoughts  in  such  exquisitely  chosen  words  under  the 
whip  and  spur  of  snap-shot  speeches,  where  the  chief 
end  of  man  is  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  the  next  man. 
We  read  now  as  "classics"  the  very  lectures  to  which 
the  men  and  women,  the  youths  and  maidens,  of  an 
earlier  day  listened  with  rapt  attention  in  the  Lowell 
Institute,  in  the  plain  old  churches,  the  town  halls,  and 
the  country  schoolhouses. 

Mechanical  brevity  has  now  become,  with  many  per- 
sons, an  obsession,  and  in  our  publications  merit  is 
measured  by  fractions  of  an  inch.  To-day  speed  is 
the  first  law  of  mental,  as  of  social  and  commercial, 
activity.  Literature  is  to  be  reduced  to  one  dimen- 
sion, and  its  excellence  estimated  in  proportion  to  its 
shortness. 

So  we  are  developing  a  host  of  people  who  can  think 
only  in  giblets.  Their  minds  are  impatient  of  any  con- 
tinuous process  of  thought,  and  move  only  by  jerks  of 
impulse  and  impression.  They  never  really  know  any- 


THE    ART    OF   BREVITY  355 

thing,  but  decide  life's  weightiest  matters  by  transitory 
spurts  of  feeling.  They  do  not  want  to  be  made  to 
know  anything,  nor  to  think  definitely  about  anything. 
That  is  "tiresome."  Something  of  this  tendency  is 
doubtless  due  to  the  fifteen-minute  or  twenty-minute 
"periods"  in  our  public  schools,  where  a  class  is  dis- 
missed just  at  the  moment  when  the  subject  might  be- 
come interesting,  and  where  any  explanation,  illustra- 
tion, or  enforcement  of  anything  would  "interfere  with 
the  schedule."  Our  salvation,  as  yet,  is  in  the  profes- 
sions where  minister,  lawyer,  and  doctor  have  to  study 
complicated  problems  till  their  heads  ache ;  in  our  solid 
business  men,  engineers,  architects,  and  financiers,  com- 
pelled to  wade  through  piled  sheets  of  specifications, 
ponder  every  item,  and  then  mass  all  together  into  a 
unity ;  in  our  colleges,  where  professors  agonize  to  in- 
duce butterfly  students  to  think,  and  succeed  in  evolv- 
ing some  intellectual  processes  in  the  minds  of  a  certain 
per  centage  of  them. 

Every  opinion  worth  having  requires  toil  and  time. 
Thinking  takes  time,  and  the  expression  of  thought  in 
writing  or  printing  requires  space.  Let  a  dozen  per- 
sons join  hands  in  a  circle,  and  transmit  a  pressure  of 
the  leader's  right  hand  around  the  circle  to  his  left 
hand  again,  and  the  time  occupied  is  measurable  by  the 
watch,  showing  that  each  person  has  occupied  an  ap- 
preciable time  in  so  simple  a  process  as  receiving  a 
pressure  by  his  right  hand,  and  transmitting  it  by  his 
left.  Who  that  has  ever  done  anything  worth  doing 
has  not  found  himself  compelled  to  spend  minutes, 
hours,  even  years,  to  bring  scattered  items  and  observa- 
tions to  an  orderly  and  definite  conclusion?  There  are 
comprehensive  truths  that  can  not  be  grasped  till  one 
has  mastered  the  preliminary  truths  of  which  they  are 


356  EXPRESSIVE   ENGLISH 

made  up.  Time  and  space  must  be  given  for  the  mind's 
advance,  for  most  of  our  knowledge  is  composite,  and  is 
gained  by  assembling  ideas  previously  known,  so  that  by 
their  association  the  mind  is  led  to  truth  previously  un- 
known, just  as  tourists  along  Alpine  pathways  zigzag 
up  the  face  of  some  towering  cliff,  turning  now  this  way, 
now  that,  but  always  ascending,  till,  step  by  step,  they 
reach  the  summit. 

Hence,  Herbert  Spencer  errs  in  his  otherwise  admira- 
ble essay  on  "The  Philosophy  of  Style"  in  making  all 
the  power  of  speaking  or  writing  consist  in  "Economy 
of  Attention."  Valuable  as  that  is,  it  is  by  no  means 
all,  nor  even  always  the  chief  thing.  There  is  a  power 
of  emphasis  and  of  impression.  There  are  times  when 
what  is  needed  is,  not  to  economize,  but  to  arouse,  fix, 
focus  attention — to  secure,  above  all  things,  the  "arrest 
of  thought."  The  electric  current  that  flows  smoothly, 
without  interruption,  from  positive  to  negative  pole, 
does  no  work;  it  is  when  checked  and  restrained,  com- 
pelled to  fight  its  way,  that  it  speaks  through  the  tele- 
graph key,  drives  the  car,  or  blazes  in  the  arc-light. 
There  are  thoughts  on  which  the  mind  needs  to  pause, 
till  by  the  very  lingering  the  new  idea  is  brought  into 
touch  with  myriad  associations, — with  the  memories  of 
childhood,  the  loves  and  joys,  the  hopes  and  possibilities 
of  the  individual  and  of  humanity, — while  in  the  pause 
the  mind  itself  has  time  to  expand  to  the  vastness  and 
majesty  of  the  truth.  To  effect  just  this  is  often  the 
crowning  triumph  of  the  orator  or  the  author, — and  this, 
the  craze  for  brevity  would  rush  him  by  on  an  express 
train.  Mechanical  brevity  must  not  be  allowed  to  con- 
trol that  which  is  far  more  important  than  space  or 
time.  Then  our  thought  must  be,  not  of  mechanical, 
but  of 


THE    ART    OF    BREVITY  357 

ESSENTIAL  BREVITY 

1.  Essential  brevity  is  not  a  mere  matter  of  time  or 
space.    It  can  not  be  measured  by  the  clock,  nor  deter- 
mined by  count  of  words.    One  man  will  make  a  three- 
minute  anecdote  so  tedious  that  the  listener  is  reminded 
of  a  pressing  engagement,  while  another  will  charm  by 
an  hour  of  story-telling.     Webster  occupied  four  hours 
in  delivering  his  Reply  to  Hayne,  and  no  man  who  heard 
it  wished  it  to  have  been  less.    Essential  brevity  is  say- 
ing just  enough  for  the  subject  and  the  occasion,  and 
no  more.    So  considered,  brevity  is  simply  an  apt  fitting- 
in  to  the  time  system  of  the  universe. 

2.  Essential  brevity  is  not  a  mere  unconsidered  pau- 
city of  words.     One  who  does  not  think  clearly  will 
make  a  communication  brief  by'  leaving  out  what  it  is 
highly  important  to  say.    A  friend  writes,  "I  will  come 
at  7.40  to-morrow,  and  talk  the  matter  over  with  you." 
Does  he  mean  at  7.40  A.  M.,  or  7.40  P.  M?    Is  it  the 
train  leaving  his  station  at  7.40,  or  the  train  reaching 
your  station  at  that  hour?    There  are  three  connecting 
roads;  which  of  those  is  intended?     You  might  desire 
to  know,  so  as  to  meet  him  at  the  station  on  arrival.    All 
these  points  might  have  been  covered  without  making 
the  note  appreciably  longer  by  writing  as  follows:  "I 
will  come  by  B.  &  O.  train  leaving  here  at  7.40  A.  M. 
to-morrow,  and  talk  the  matter  over  with  you."     The 
advantage  of  the  few  added  words  is  worth  far  more 
than  the  trouble  of  writing  them.    The  number  of  tele- 
grams over  which  the  recipient  puzzles  in  dumb  amaze- 
ment is  appalling.    And  words  beyond  the  original  cost 
but  two  cents  each.    Brevity  when  it  becomes  confusing 
is  not  a  virtue,  but  a  vice.     The  good  and  safe  rule  is, 
Never  sacrifice  clearness  or  force  for  the  sake  of  brevity. 


358  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

When  in  doubt,  be  explicit.  True  brevity  makes  sure 
of  saying  that,  the  saying  of  which  is  the  only  object 
for  speaking  or  writing.  A  perfect  example  of  brief 
explicitness  is  a  despatch  from  the  English  commander, 
Clive,  to  his  native  ally: 

"Tell  Meer  Jaffier  to  fear  nothing.  I  will  join  him  with 
three  thousand  men  who  never  turned  their  backs.  Assure 
him  that  I  will  march  day  and  night  to  his  relief,  and 
stand  by  him  as  long  as  I  have  a  man  left." 

Everything  is  said: — that  the  commander  will  be 
there  in  person;  the  number  of  his  force;  their  quality 
of  tried  and  dauntless  valor;  his  rapid  march  and  un- 
flinching steadfastness ;  and  all  in  forty-two  words,  that 
stir  the  blood  like  a  trumpet  blast.  No  wonder  that  the 
man  who  could  write  that  despatch  could  conquer  In- 
dia! True  brevity  can  afford  to  be  explicit  in  the  es- 
sentials, and  gains  time  and  space  for  that  by  omitting 
non-essentials.  To  repeat:  True  brevity  says  that  the 
saying  of  which  is  the  only  object  for  speaking.  To 
turn  now  to  the  affirmative,  it  may  be  remarked  that : 

1.  Brevity  is  Condensation.  In  college  days  at  Har- 
vard a  cricket-ball  had  suffered  from  acquaintance  with 
the  bat,  and  two  students  had  the  curiosity  to  open 
it  in  their  room.  The  ball  proved  to  be  stuffed  with 
feathers,  and  it  soon  began  to  appear  that  a  college 
room  was  not  large  enough  to  contain  the  feathers  that 
had  been  compressed  into  that  small  sphere.  A  dis- 
course that  has  been  packed  with  thought  under  hy- 
draulic pressure  will  always  be  found  elastic  and  resili- 
ent, and  will  never  seem  long  if  in  harmony  with  the 
limits  of  the  occasion.  The  hearer  gets  the  impression 
of  brevity  because  he  wants  to  pause  to  expand  or  medi- 
tate upon  what  the  speaker  is  hurrying  him  by.  After 


THE    ART    OF    BREVITY  359 

such  a  discourse  people  will  be  saying,  "If  he  had  only 
carried  that  thought  out  a  little  further" — or,  "He 
might  have  added  this  or  that."  Such  condensation 
makes  the  suggestive  style.  The  utterance  is  felt  to  be 
brief  in  proportion  to  what  the  speaker  had  to  utter. 
Interest,  as  well  as  respect,  always  attends  the  mani- 
festation of  reserved  power. 

2.  Brevity  is  Terseness  of  Expression, — care  and  skill 
in  the  choice  and  rejection  of  words,  with  a  preference 
for  the  tense  vigor  of  the  Anglo-Saxon.    The  aim  should 
be  to  make  each  sentence  the  most  compact  carrier  of 
the  thought  that  it  can  be  made,  and  be  at  the  same 
time  effective  and  worthy  of  the  thought. 

3.  Brevity  is  Progress. — It  is  advance  with  a  purpose. 
The  soul  of  humanity  loves  progress  from  the  time  when 
the  growing  boy  announces  himself  as  "going  on  ten 
or  twelve,"   instead  of   stationary  at  nine   or  eleven. 
When  each  sentence  or  paragraph  is  a  step  onward,  the 
hearer  catches  the  glow  of  the  forward  movement,  ex- 
pectancy keeps  time  to  the  march  of  thought,  and  the 
very    body    of    the    listener    leans    forward,    reaching 
toward  that  new  land  of  truth  to  which  the  speaker  is 
leading  him  on. 

This  process  may  be  reversed  with  disastrous  result. 
A  preacher  will  give  a  good,  strong  sermon  for  fifteen 
or  twenty  minutes.  Then  one  can  see  that  he  began 
gleaning  his  notes  for  every  feeble  thought  which  he 
had  rejected  when  the  enthusiasm  of  expression  was 
strong  upon  him.  Still,  in  his  selection,  he  takes  every 
time  the  best  of  the  leavings,  till  finally  the  last  repro- 
bate item  is  thrust  into  the  mouth  of  the  audience  as  a 
finishing  morsel.  The  preacher  skims  for  his  hearers  a 
pint  of  rich  cream,  and  then,  that  nothing  may  be  lost, 
pours  in  the  whole  gallon  of  skim  milk. 


360  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

Mark  Twain  quotes  Franklin's  experience  with  White- 
field,  when,  as  the  philosopher  listened  to  that  prince 
of  preachers  pleading  for  a  charity,  he  first  resolved  to 
give  him  all  the  copper  he  had  in  his  purse  in  those 
days  of  specie.  Soon  he  decided  to  give  him  all  the  sil- 
ver, too.  Then,  at  the  conclusion,  he  threw  copper, 
silver,  and  gold,  purse  and  all  into  the  collection.  "I 
had, ' '  says  Mark  Twain,  ' '  the  very  opposite  experience. 
I  heard  a  preacher  appealing  for  missions.  When  he 
had  spoken  ten  minutes,  I  decided  to  give  him  all  the 
money  I  had  about  me.  He  went  on  ten  minutes  longer, 
and  I  determined  to  give  him  half.  He  spoke  another 
ten  minutes,  and  I  thought  a  quarter  of  my  money 
would  be  enough.  He  went  on  ten  minutes  longer,  and 
I  made  up  my  mind  not  to  give  him  any.  Then,  he 
added  a  final  appeal,  and  that  so  worked  upon  my  feel- 
ings that  I  took  a  dime  out  of  the  collection-basket 
as  soon  as  it  came  my  way." 

4.  Again,  brevity  is  Economy  of  Material  in  actual 
use.  This  does  not  conflict  with  what  has  been  said  of 
Condensation  and  Reserve  Power.  Many  a  speaker  has 
the  reserves  without  the  power.  All  his  reserves  are 
crowding  into  the  discourse.  He  can  not  give  a  truth 
without  detailing  the  mental  processes  by  which  he 
reached  it.  If  there  is  anything  doubtful,  he  must  im- 
press on  the  hearers  the  hazy  mystery  or  mistiness  of 
his  doubts.  The  effect  is  as  if  the  contents  of  a  bakery 
were  shoveled  upon  one 's  breakfast  table. 

A  merchant  had  spent  a  large  sum  in  furnishing  his 
drawing-room,  but  was  dissatisfied  with  the  result.  He 
went  to  a  leading  furniture  dealer,  and  asked  him  to 
find  and  correct  the  fault  at  any  cost.  The  dealer  said, 
"Let  me  go  into  that  room  alone."  Soon  he  called  the 
owner,  who  said  with  delight,  "It's  all  right  now.  What 


361 

have  you  done?"  The  artist  in  furnishing  took  him  to 
a  corner  of  the  hall,  and  showed  him  three  chairs  which 
he  had  taken  out,  changing  the  parlor  from  a  wareroom 
to  a  residential  apartment.  He  had  simply  removed  the 
excess  of  material.  The  crowding  of  thought  must  be 
behind  the  spoken  word — never  piled  in  front  of  it  or 
around  it. 

The  audience  needs,  not  processes,  but  results,  and 
just  enough  of  these  for  effective  use.  Every  scientist 
does  a  vast  deal  of  what  he  calls  "dead  work" — calcu- 
lations and  experiments  that  do  not  appear  in  his  com- 
pleted statement,  and  that  are  largely  effective  in  telling 
him  what  not  to  say.  There  is  precisely  similar  work 
for  the  writer  or  the  public  speaker  to  do,  and  it  may 
be  affirmed  that  the  "dead  work"  of  the  study  is  the 
life  of  brevity  in  the  spoken  or  written  result.  As  where 
the  Alps  rise  in  morning  majesty  above  a  sea  of  cloud, 
the  master  of  eloquence  does  not  go  down  to  follow  miles 
of  mule-tracks  through  mist  and  shadow,  but  carries  his 
hearers  from  mountain  top  to  mountain  top  on  wings  of 
light. 

5.  Brevity  is  Unity. — One  paragraph  aside  from  the 
main  topic,  or  not  seen  to  connect  with  it,  brings  the 
hearer  to  mental  pause,  so  that  he  hears  the  watch  tick- 
ing in  his  pocket. 

An  engineer  may  have  good  reasons  for  going  upon  a 
siding,  but  it  is  fearfully  tedious  for  the  passengers,  and 
when  the  rhetorical  engineer  is  also  the  train-despatcher, 
he  is  bound  by  all  the  laws  of  success  to  insure  his  audi- 
ence a  clear  track  ahead.  The  sidings  should  have  both 
termini  in  the  speaker's  or  writer's  study.  Deadliest 
of  all  enemies  to  apparent  brevity  is  repetition,  leading 
the  hearer  to  exclaim,  "Oh,  do  we  have  to  hear  that  all 
over  again."  "What  belongs  to  one  head  should  be  ex- 


362  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

hausted  there,  and  each  fresh  division  should  include 
all  that  belongs  to  the  new  topic,  and  rigorously  exclude 
everything  else.  Divisions  should  never  overlap,  either 
in  utterance  or  essence. 

It  is  well  to  go  through  a  discourse  and  ask  of  each 
topic  or  paragraph,  ' '  Does  this  help  the  main  thought  ? ' ' 
If  not,  that  topic  or  paragraph  or  sentence  is  all  too 
much  for  that  place  and  time,  and  is  destructive  to  the 
soul  of  brevity.  Sometimes  the  apparent  lack  of  unity 
will  be  found  to  be  a  mere  fault  of  arrangement,  so  that 
simply  transposing  a  paragraph  will  change  it  from  a 
discordant  note  to  a  part  of  a  complete  harmony. 

6.  Brevity  is  Comprehensiveness — according  to  the  de- 
rivation, the  "grasping  together"  of  the  subject,  so  that 
the  speaker  or  writer  sees  the  whole  at  once  and  all  parts 
in  their  relations. 

Visitors  to  St.  Peter's  Church  in  Rome  often  find  dif- 
ficulty in  appreciating  its  vastness  because  all  is  in  such 
perfect  adaptation.  You  go  up  to  the  infantile  cherubs 
near  the  entrance,  and  find  to  your  .surprize  that  it  takes 
your  two  hands  to  clasp  one  baby  arm.  You  learn  that 
in  the  apparently  life-size  picture  of  St.  Luke  at  the 
base  of  the  dome,  the  pen  in  the  hand  of  the  evangelist 
is  seven  feet  long.  Then  you  begin  to  feel  the  sweep  of 
that  comprehensive  genius  that  reared  the  vast  pile,  and 
proportioned  all  the  objects  to  the  immensity. 

Hence  it  will  readily  appear  that  brevity  is  an  attain- 
ment— an  achievement — the  result  of  hard  work,  and  of 
the  exercise  of  some  of  the  highest  qualities  of  oratorical 
or  rhetorical  genius. 

7.  Brevity  is  the  Right  Finish. — Two  young  ministers 
were  comparing  notes.    The  first  said,  ' '  I  don 't  see  how 
it  is.    My  education  is  all  as  good  as  yours.    In  many 
ways,  certainly,  I  have  as  much  ability.     My  sermons 


THE   ART   OF   BREVITY  363 

are  no  longer  than  yours,  but  I  always  leave  an  audi- 
ence tired,  while  you  leave  them  delighted  and  in- 
spired. ' ' 

"I  will  tell  you,"  said  his  friend.  "You  put  your 
best  illustration  into  your  introduction  and  your  best 
arguments  into  the  body  of  the  sermon,  and  reach  the 
closing  part  tired  and  hurried  and  glad  to  get  through 
as  you  can,  and  your  audience  feels  the  same  way. 

"I  write  my  conclusion  first.  I  put  the  very  best 
thing  I  have  into  it.  I  learn  it  by  heart.  Then,  how- 
ever I  may  stumble  or  forget,  when  the  time  comes,  I 
fire  that  conclusion,  and  go  off  in  a  cloud  of  glory. ' ' 

There  is  more  in  this  than  first  appears.  It  is  more 
than  an  oratorical  trick.  It  involves  oratorical  perspec- 
tive, seeing  through  the  vista  of  the  discourse  the  fitting 
close. 

Conclusion  is  more  than  end  or  finish.  It  is  by  deriva- 
tion, a  "shutting  together,"  bringing  all  to  complete- 
ness, all  that  has  been  said  leading  up  to  this.  The  con- 
clusion should  be  alive,  vigorous,  climactic,  with  the 
power  of  the  whole  discourse  pressing  behind  it.  Take 
the  famous  close  of  "Paradise  Lost:"  ' 

"The  world  was  all  before  them  where  to  choose 
Their  place  of  rest,  and  Providence  their  guide. 
They,  hand  in  hand,  with  wandering  steps  and  slow, 
Through  Eden  took  their  solitary  way." 

An  inferior  poet  would  have  added  some  paragraphs 
to  tell  us  about  the  scenery,  the  miles  they  walked,  and 
where  they  got  their  dinner,  in  contrast  with  this  ma- 
jestic finish  which  bears  in  its  plaintive  cadence  all  that 
the  poem  set  out  to  tell : 

"Of  man's  first  disobedience     .     .     . 
With  loss  of  Eden  till  one  greater  Man 
Bestore  us  and  regain  the  blissful  seat." 


364  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

This  simple  close  leaves  the  reader  in  a  hush  of  musing 
expectancy. 

The  public  speaker,  especially,  needs  to  watch  against 
the  insidious  temptation,  when  the  very  climax  and  acme 
of  oratorical  triumph  is  reached,  and  the  whole  audience 
is  in  vivid  sympathy  at  the  crowning  moment — that  is 
so  grand,  so  thrilling — just  to  add  a  few  paragraphs  to 
"improve  the  occasion,"  and  lo!  the  occasion  has  van- 
ished, like  a  sunset  while  the  artist  was  vainly  trying  to 
fasten  it  down  on  canvas.  Hence,  the  final  and  abso- 
lute rule  of  brevity  is,  At  the  conclusion  STOP! 


CHAPTER   XVII 
FIGURES    OF    SPEECH 

Figurative  language  is  so  far  from  being  artificial 
that  it  is  one  of  the  most  natural  modes  of  expression 
of  human  thought.  The  first  words  of  all  languages 
must  have  been  in  some  way  connected  with  material 
and  sensible  objects,  as  sun,  moon,  stars,  earth,  rocks, 
hills,  trees,  rivers,  birds,  beasts,  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren; the  voices  of  men  or  animals,  the  song  of  birds, 
the  sighing  of  the  wind,  the  falling  of  rain  or  snow,  the 
peal  of  the  thunder;  and  with  these  such  verbs  of  mo- 
tion as  go,  walk,  run,  etc.  Then,  as  words  came  to  be 
needed  to  express  abstract  ideas  and  spiritual  emotions, 
the  natural  way,  and  perhaps  the  only  way,  to  obtain 
such  words  was  by  adapting  some  material  term  to  spir- 
itual import.  Thus  the  very  word  for  spirit  or  soul  in 
both  Latin  and  Greek  is  one  that  originally  signified 
wind  or  breath.  Darkness,  always  somewhat  oppres- 
sive, was  especially  depressing  to  primeval  man,  when, 
through  the  long,  unlighted  nights,  he  "watched  for  the 
morning."  It  was  therefore  natural  to  use  any  word 
denoting  absence  of  light  or  brightness  as  expressive  of 
sorrow  or  sadness.  The  idea  has  come  down  to  us 
through  the  ages.  Thus  Longfellow  writes  in  the  well- 
known  lines: 

"The  day  is  cold,  and  dark,  and  dreary; 

"My  life  is  cold,  and  dark,  and  dreary; 
It  rains,  and  the  wind  is  never  weary; 
My  thoughts  still  cling  to  the  mouldering  past, 
But  the  hopes  of  youth  fall  thick  in  the  blast, 
And  the  days  are  dark  and  dreary." 
365 


366  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

With  such  association  the  words  dark,  gloomy,  som- 
ber, shadowy,  all  suggest  sorrow,  grief,  or  melancholy. 
We  speak  of  a  sorrowing  one  as  "walking  in  the 
shadow,"  we  speak  of  "the  valley  of  the  shadow  of 
death,"  and  we  wear  black  in  token  of  mourning. 

Again,  in  matters  of  the  intellect,  ignorance  and  dul- 
ness  make  one  fail  and  err,  as  darkness  makes  one  stum- 
ble or  wander;  so  Europe's  centuries  of  ignorance  are 
called  the  "Dark  Ages."  Spiritually,  a  dark  deed  is 
one  that  skulks  and  hides  from  exposing  light. 

But  in  another  aspect,  shade  or  shadow  may  suggest 
a  wholly  different  idea.  In  tropical  lands,  nothing  is  so 
wasting  and  desolating  as  the  heat  of  the  sun,  and  there 
shadow  becomes  a  symbol  of  rest  and  protection.  The 
divine  care  is  thus  likened  in  the  Scripture  to  "the 
shadow  of  a  great  rock  in  a  weary  land." 

Storm  is  naturally  an  emblem  of  conflict.  The  ele- 
ments seem  to  be  contending.  Accordingly,  we  have  the 
expressions,  " warring  winds,"  the  "storm  of  battle." 
A  gathering  mass  of  clouds  suggests  a  thronging  assem- 
bly, and  we  speak  of  a  "cloud  of  witnesses." 

Man  invented  a  word  to  express  the  swift  movement 
of  a  living  creature,  and  said,  ' '  The  horse,  the  deer,  the 
dog,  runs.  Soon  he  extended  the  word  to  anything 
marked  by  the  underlying  conception  of  swift,  continu- 
ous movement,  and  said,  ' '  The  fire  runs  through  the  dry 
grass ; "  "  the  river  runs  to  the  sea. ' '  Next  the  word  was 
extended  to  mental  conceptions,  as  of  thought  and  ut- 
terance. Our  old  law  books  speak  of  time  ' '  whereof  the 
memory  of  man  runneth  not  to  the  contrary."  The 
Psalmist  says,  "God's  word  runneth  very  swiftly." 
The  word  lapse,  from  the  Latin  lapsus,  a  slipping,  de- 
scribed the  sliding  movement  of  a  stream,  and  men  came 
to  speak  of  the  lapse  of  time;  or,  by  more  direct  com- 


FIGURES    OF    SPEECH  367 

parison,  we  say  events  are  "borne  down  the  stream  of 
time,"  or  when  a  thought  or  fact  has  quietly  passed  out 
of  mind,  we  speak  of  a  "lapse  of  memory." 

Thus  early  language  was  highly  figurative,  and  if  we 
study  the  origin  or  derivation  of  our  words,  they  are 
found  to  be,  almost  all,  at  the  root  symbolic  or  pictorial. 
We  have  largely  lost  sight  of  these  comparisons,  and 
take  our  words,  as  we  take  our  coins,  at  their  current 
face  value,  without  thinking  of  the  minted  gold  or  sil- 
ver, or  noting  the  emblem  stamped  upon  them;  but  as 
we  go  back  to  observe  the  earlier  meanings,  we  find  all 
primitive  language  exceedingly  picturesque.  Hence,  as 
Macaulay  has  pointed  out,  early  ages  are  the  most  po- 
etical: 

"Language,  the  machine  of  the  poet,  is  best  fitted  for  hia 
purpose  in  its  rudest  state.  Nations,  like  individuals,  first 
perceive,  and  then  abstract.  They  advance  from  particular 
images  to  general  terms.  Hence,  the  vocabulary  of  an  en- 
lightened society  is  philosophical,  that  of  a  half-civilized 
people  is  poetical.  ...  In  a  rude  state  of  society  men 
are  children  with  a  greater  variety  of  ideas."  * 

Still,  even  in  the  most  advanced  society,  every  human 
being  starts  with  a  background  of  the  physical  and  the 
concrete,  which  has  been  the  basis  of  thought  through 
all  his  childhood,  and  is  inseparably  united  with  what 
will  always  be  its  precious  memories.  Still,  by  the  needs 
of  food,  clothing,  and  shelter,  the  alternations  of  heat 
and  cold,  storm  and  sunshine,  the  vicissitudes  of  sick- 
ness or  health,  bodily  pleasure  or  pain,  the  needs  of 
travel  by  land  and  sea,  and  at  times  of  forcible  defense 
against  violence  from  within  or  without,  the  physical 
and  concrete  form  the  basis  and  enclosure  of  the  high- 
est intellectual  and  spiritual  life.  The  tooth-ache  is  as 


"Essay  on  Milton." 


368  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

real  for  the  philosopher  as  for  the  savage.  Hence  im- 
ages from  the  physical  and  material  will  always  make 
ready  appeal  to  human  thought  and  feeling,  and  often 
aid  effectively  in  the  expression  of  the  highest  spiritual 
truths,  as  when  the  Scripture  declares,  "God  is  light, 
and  in  him  is  no  darkness  at  all."  Figurative  style  is 
thus  not  to  be  thought  of  as  merely  ornamental.  Well- 
chosen  figures  of  speech  do  supply  ornament  and  beauty, 
which  within  due  limits  are  worthy  aims,  but  also,  in 
their  best  use,  add  to  the  clearness,  force,  and  effective- 
ness of  what  is  said  or  written. 

The  chief  figures  given  in  books  of  Rhetoric  are 
simile,  metaphor,  antithesis,  epigram,  paradox,  meton- 
ymy, synecdoche,  interrogation,  exclamation,  apostro- 
phe, personification,  climax,  hyperbole,  irony.  Allegory, 
parable,  and  fable  are  added  by  many  rhetoricians;  but 
these  are  not  properly  figures  of  speech,  but  forms  of 
literature,  partaking  of  the  nature  of  narrative. 

These  figures  may  be  arranged  in  groups  as  follows: 

..  (  Simile  *  j  Interrogation 

I  Metaphor  (  Exclamation 

Antithesis 

Epigram  t  j  Personification 

Paradox  ( Apostrophe 
Irony 

o  j  Metonomy  /.  j  Hyperbole 

{  Synecdoche  (  Climax 

Distinction  between  Simile  and  Metaphor. 

Simile  and  metaphor  are  both  figures  of  comparison, 
and  many  persons  have  difficulty  in  distinguishing  one 
from  the  other.  The  difference  is  the  simplest  possible. 
A  comparison  introduced  by  the  use  of  some  compara- 
tive word, — as,  like,  such,  etc., — is  a  simile.  A  coin- 


FIGURES    OF    SPEECH  369 

parison  made  without  the  use  of  a  comparative  word  is 
a  metaphor.  If  we  say  of  a  man,  "He  upholds  the 
church  as  a  pillar  supports  an  edifice,"  we  use  a  simile. 
But  if  we  say,  ' '  He  is  a  pillar  of  the  church, ' '  that  is  a 
metaphor. 

THE  SIMILE. — Every  simile  is  a  comparison,  but  not 
every  comparison  is  a  simile.  A  rhetorical  simile  must 
involve  the  element  of  imagination.  To  secure  this 
effect,  the  rule  is  absolute  that :  A  simile  must  compare 
some  object  with  another  of  a  different  class. 

If  we  say  that  one  city  is  like  another  city,  we  have, 
not  a  simile,  but  a  direct  comparison.  To  say,  "A  mule 
is  like  a  horse,  but  with  very  long  ears,"  is  not  simile, 
but  description.  For  simile,  the  imaginative  element 
must  come  in.  Thus,  when  we  speak  of  some  vast  bank 
of  clouds  as  "like  a  city  with  spires  and  towers  and 
palaces,"  we  have  a  simile,  because  the  imagination  has 
built  its  city  out  of  the  airy  shapes  of  cloudland. 

But,  though  imaginative,  the  likeness  must  be  real. 
Here,  as  in  all  good  writing  or  speaking,  truth  is  the 
supreme  test  of  excellence.  An  illustration,  however 
beautiful  in  itself,  if  it  does  not  fit  the  case,  leaves  the 
reader  or  hearer  with  a  sense  of  being  defrauded  by  a 
comparison  that  does  not  compare. 

The  likeness  must  be  intelligible,  and  readily  intelli- 
gible, to  those  to  whom  it  is  addressed.  The  very  first 
use  of  simile  is  for  explication  or  explanation,  to  bring 
some  thought  clearly  before  the  mind  by  an  apt  com- 
parison. As  used  for  explanation  a  simile  should  al- 
ways explain  the  less  known  by  the  better  known.  Take, 
for  instance,  the  Scriptural  simile: 

"The  wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth,  and  thou  nearest  the 
sound  thereof,  but  canst  not  tell  whence  it  cometh,  nor 
whither  it  goeth,  so  is  every  one  that  is  born  of  the  Spirit." 


370  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

Here  the  wind,  which  everyone  knows  as  powerful, 
though  unseen,  is  used  to  explain  the  action  of  the  di- 
vine Spirit,  viewless  yet  mighty.  But  a  simile,  however 
rich  and  beautiful  in  and  of  itself,  is  useless  for  rhetori- 
cal purposes,  if  drawn  from  objects  unfamiliar  to  the 
reader  or  hearer.  He  has  made  no  advance.  Nothing 
is  clearer  to  him.  In  this  respect,  Browning  is  especially 
faulty.  His  admirers  say,  "How  rich  and  beautiful 
that  simile  is!" — after  they  have  studied  it  out  by  the 
encyclopedia  and  the  mythological  dictionary.  The 
plain  man  often  understands  everything  in  the  passage 
except  the  illustrations.  Thus: 

"As  some  forgotten  vest, 
Woven  of  painted  byssus,  silkiest, 
Tufting  the  Tyrrhene  whelk's  pearl-sheeted  lip, 
Left  welter  where  a  trireme  let  it  slip 
F  the  sea,  and  vexed  a  satrap;  so  the  stain 
O'  the  world  forsakes  Sordello;  how  the  tinct 
Loosening  escapes,  cloud  after  cloud." 

How  many  persons  get  any  intelligible  idea  from  this 
at  first  reading  ?  One  reviewer  *  thus  explains  the  pas- 
sages: 

"Now,  what  is  the  picture  painted  here?  Analyze  it,  and 
this  is  the  result:  An  eastern  satrap,  sailing  upon  a  galley 
or  trireme,  wears  a  vest  of  byssus,  dyed  with  Tyrian  purple. 
He  lets  it  fall  overboard,  and,  as  he  looks  down  through  the 
clear  sea,  sees  the  purple  dye  escaping  and  clouding  the 
water.  So  Sordello  is  cleansed  from  the  stain  of  the  world. 
It  is  a  very  beautiful  illustration,  but  its  beauty  is  not  per- 
ceived till  we  recollect  that  purple  is  taken  from  the  tuft  of 
the  "whelk's  pearl-sheeted  lip,"  and  a  garment  so  dyed,  if 
cast  into  the  sea,  throws  off  its  color  in  tremulous  clouds." 

It  may  be  so.     We  would  not  dogmatize.     Whether 


*  W.  J.  Dawson:    "Literary  Leaders  of  Modern  England,"  Ch. 
xiii. 


FIGURES    OF    SPEECH  371 

the  dye  would  wash  out  fast  enough  to  be  seen  in  suc- 
cessive "clouds"  before  the  "vest"  disappeared  from 
view  we  are  not  sure;  we  can  only  take  the  poet's  word 
for  it.  The  same  reviewer  adds: 

"Does  anyone  see  the  meaning  at  first  sight?  And  how 
many  might  read  it,  and  never  see  any  meaning  at  all !  This 
is  an  example  of  Browning  in  his  worst  mood ;  and  we  cannot 
wonder,  when  we  consider  it,  that  a  simple-minded  poet  like 
Charles  Mackay  called  him  'the  High  Priest  of  the  Unin- 
telligible'; or  that  Browning  Societies  have  had  to  be  in- 
vented to  reduce  his  recondite  fancies  to  lucidity." 

But  such  similes  are  for  the  closet  reader,  who  has 
all  the  time  there  is,  and  all  the  antiquarian  books  at 
hand,  with  which  to  hammer  out  and  explain  the  illus- 
trations. For  anyone  who  would  address  men  in  the 
stress  and  strain  of  active,  hurrying  life,  such  a  simile 
is  useless.  It  is  even  worse  than  useless,  because  it  dis- 
tracts attention  by  the  vain  attempt  to  decipher  the  ob- 
scure and  perplexing.  Contrast  with  such  obscurity  the 
illustration  by  the  war-correspondent,  Coffin,  of  ' '  Stone- 
wall" Jackson's  charge  with  his  massed  forces  upon  the 
flank  of  the  long-extended  Federal  line  at  Chancellors- 
ville : 

"That  charge  broke  the  Union  line  as  you  would  break  a 
stick  of  candy  l>y  striking  it  on  end  with  a  sledge-hammer." 

That  simile,  from  the  well-known  and  familiar,  really 
explains  the  military  movement,  makes  it  clear  to  the 
intellect,  and  at  the  same  time  impresses  the  imagina- 
tion. Or  take  Tennyson's  description  of  the  innocent 
young  girl  in  a  moment  of  surprise : 

"Melissa,  with  her  hand  upon  the  lock, 
A  rosy  blonde,  and  in  a  college  gown, 
That  clad  her  like  an  April  daffodilly, 
'.  .  .  .  with  her  lips  apart, 


372  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

And  all  her  thoughts  as  fair  within  her  eyes, 
As  bottom  agates  seem  to  wave  and  float 
In  crystal  currents  of  the  morning  seas." 

This  requirement  of  intelligibility  does  not,  however, 
imply  that  the  simile  should  be  drawn  from  the  ordi- 
nary, much  less  from  the  commonplace.  The  simile  may 
involve  the  remote  and  grand,  if  only  such  as  the  reader 
or  hearer  can  readily  understand  or  picture.  Everyone 
has  read  and  heard  of  shipwrecks.  Hence  we  instantly 
feel  the  power  of  Scott's  sadly  beautiful  lines: 

"As  the  tall  ship,  whose  lofty  prore 
Shall  never  stem  the  billows  more, 
Deserted  by  her  gallant  band, 
Amid  the  breakers  lies  astrand, — 
So  on  his  couch  lay  Roderic  Dhu!" 

That  comparison  is  as  real  and  as  intelligible  as  it  is 
beautiful  in  its  tender  pathos. 

But  suppose  that  the  author  or  the  orator  sees  a 
valuable  illustration  in  some  scientific  mechanical,  or 
other  fact  or  process  with  which  his  readers  or  hearers 
cannot  be  expected  to  be  familiar.  Must  he  reject  it? 
No.  Make  them  familiar  with  it  before  he  compares  it  to 
anything.  Let  him  begin  with  some  introductory  state- 
ment, such  as,  "It  has  been  found  by  scientific  research 
that" — then  go  on  and  explain  the  fact  or  process  in 
simple  phrase  till  it  is  clear  to  every  thoughtful  mind. 
Now  he  can  perfect  his  simile  with  "So  in  human  life — " 
or  "So  in  the  affairs  of  nations — ,"  etc.  His  simile 
will  be  intelligible  because  his  explanation  has  made  it 
so,  and  readers  or  hearers  will  derive  an  added  delight 
from  the  new  knowledge  thus  put  within  their  grasp, 
and  connected  with  some  thought  in  which  they  have  a 
practical  interest. 

A  simile  must  not  be  carried  too  far.    Scriptural  in- 


FIGURES   OF   SPEECH  373 

terpreters  have  laid  it  down  as  a  rule  that  "a  parable 
must  not  be  made  to  go  on  all  fours."  If  the  simile 
goes  too  much  into  detail,  the  imagination  is  lost  in  the 
assemblage  of  particulars.  This  is  in  part  the  fault  of 
the  example  already  given  from  Browning 's  ' '  Sordello. ' ' 
The  "Tyrrhene  whelk,"  the  "trireme,"  and  the  "sa- 
trap" are  in  the  way.  What  is  that  "satrap"  doing 
there?  What  do  we  care  whether  there  was  a  "satrap," 
or  not,  or  whether  he  was  "vexed,"  or  not?  We  must 
get  by  him,  and  dismiss  him  from  our  thoughts  before 
we  can  reach  the  real  simile  of  "cloud  after  cloud"  of 
color. 

But,  while  too  many  particulars  must  not  crowd  upon 
the  canvas,  the  simile  should  be  thought  through,  to  be 
sure  that  no  suppressed  detail  is  such  as  will  be  likely 
to  occur  to  the  mind  of  reader  or  hearer  with  damaging 
effect ;  and,  especially  in  discussion  or  debate,  that  noth- 
ing is  overlooked  which  may  enable  an  opponent  to  turn 
the  simile  back  upon  its  author  with  damaging  effect. 
This  caution  is  especially  important  for  the  extempo- 
raneous speaker.  In  preparing  his  notes  he  often  indi- 
cates an  illustration  merely  by  a  word  or  phrase,  but 
when  he  starts  in  upon  it  finds  that  it  involves  some 
elements  that  are  not  to  his  purpose,  and  may  even  lead 
the  wrong  way.  He  can  not  stop,  and  finds  his  illustra- 
tion running  away  with  him,  like  a  bicycle  without  a 
brake  rushing  down  hill,  with  the  certainty  of  wreck  at 
the  foot.  Every  illustration  should  be  studied  as  care- 
fully as  the  argument, — and  even  more  so,  for  those  who 
forget  the  argument  are  quite  sure  to  remember  the  il- 
lustration. 

But  how  about  the  sudden  illustrations  that  spring  to 
the  lips  when  the  speaker  is  looking  into  the  eyes  of  his 
audience,  and  which  are  some  of  the  best  he  will  ever 


374  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

have?  The  answer  is,  that  only  this  very  carefulness 
of  training  will  prepare  him  to  utilize  these  safely  and 
successfully,  as  it  is  only  the  trained  marksman  who  is 
likely  to  succeed  with  the  chance  shot.  The  master  of 
speech  can  think  ahead  fast  enough  to  seize  these  in- 
spirations, and  make  them  spells  of  power. 

Worn  and  hackneyed  similes  should  be  avoided.  "As 
quick  as  lightning ; "  "as  dark  as  Egypt ; "  "as  black  as 
a  crow ; "  "  as  blind  as  a  bat ; "  "  as  obstinate  as  a  mule ; ' ' 
"as  sharp  as  a  needle;"  "as  neat  as  a  pin;"  "as  keen 
as  a  brier;"  "as  true  as  the  needle  to  the  pole;" — all 
these  had  vivid  meaning  once,  but  have  lost  all  point  and 
edge  by  continual  use.  Such  similes  give  to  speech  or 
writing  an  effect  of  cheapness, — which  is  the  very  fact. 
They  show  that  the  speaker  or  writer  has  spent  no  time 
or  labor  to  secure  the  gems  and  gold  of  speech,  but  has 
pitched  into  his  collection  the  first  wayside  pebbles  he 
chanced  to  pick  up.  But  whoever  would  address  an  as- 
sembly or  write  for  publication  aspires  to  be  a  leader 
of  men, — and  to  lead  he  must  be  in  advance  of  them. 
They  expect  this  of  him  when  they  give  him  their  time 
and  attention.  He  defrauds  them  if  he  does  not  offei 
them  something  that  will  pay  them  for  reading  or 
listening;  and  the  punishment  of  this  fraud  is  auto- 
matic; they  cease  to  read  or  listen.  So  the  cheap  style 
defeats  the  very  purpose  of  oratory  or  authorship. 

Still  more  emphatically  it  must  be  urged  that  a  simile 
should  never  be  drawn  from  objects  essentially  coarse, 
inferior,  or  belittling, — unless  for  satire  or  denuncia- 
tion, and  even  then  with  care  that  one  does  not  seem  to 
degrade  what  is  high,  good,  and  beautiful.  Thus,  when 
Butler,  in  his  "Hudibras,"  says: 

"And,  like  a  lobster  boiled,  the  morn 
From  black  to  red  began  to  turn," 


FIGURES   OF   SPEECH  375 

he  insults  every  reader's  sense  of  beauty  by  comparing 
the  glory  of  sunrise  to  so  coarse  and  rude  a  thing  as  a 
boiled  lobster.  The  comparison  is  not  even  funny,  but 
simply  disgusting.  The  true  use  of  simile  is  to  beautify 
and  exalt.  An  example  of  this  you  will  find  in  Gold- 
smith's beautiful  description  of  the  village  pastor  in  his 
famed  poem,  "The  Deserted  Village:" 

"And  as  a  bird  each  fond  endearment  tries 
To  tempt  its  new-fledged  offspring  to  the  skies, 
He  tried  each  art,  reproved  each  dull  delay, 
Allured  to  brighter  worlds,  and  led  the  way." 

And  again,  summing  up  his  grand  life: 

"To  them  his  heart,  his  love,  his  griefs   were  given, 
But  all  his  serious  thoughts  had  rest  in  heaven. 
As  some  tall  cliff  that  lifts  its  awful  form, 
Swells  from  the  vale,  and  midway  leaves  the  storm, 
Though  round  its  breast  the  rolling  clouds  are  spread, 
Eternal  sunshine  settles  on  its  head." 

Of  a  different,  but  still  of  a  noble  type,  are  the  similes 
in  Byron's  poem,  "The  Destruction  of  Sennacherib:" 

"The  Assyrian  came  down  like  the  wolf  on  the  fold, 
And  his  cohorts  were  gleaming  in  purple  and  gold, 
And  the  sheen  of  their  spears  was  like  stars  on  the  sea, 
When  the  blue  wave  rolls  nightly  on  deep  Galilee. 

"Like  the  leaves  of  the  forest  when  summer  is  green, 
That  host  with  their  banners  at  sunset  were  seen ; 
Like  the  leaves  of  the  forest  when  autumn  hath  blown, 
That  host  on  the  morrow  lay  withered  and  strown. 

"And  the  might  of  the  Gentile,  unsmote  by  the  sword, 
Hath  melted  like  snow  in  the  glance  of  the  Lord !" 

The  simile  is  subject  to  another  limitation  of  a  di- 
rectly opposite  character,  viz.:   The  illustration  must 


373  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

never  be  more  or  greater  or  more  preoccupying  than  the 
matter  illustrated.  Never  attempt  to  carry  a  flat  or 
commonplace  thought  aloft  on  the  wings  of  soaring 
imagery.  Only  a  great  truth  is  worthy  of  a  magnificent 
illustration,  and,  even  so,  the  truth  must  be  maintained 
in  manifest  supremacy.  You  will  sometimes  hear  a 
preacher  who  will  give  such  a  realistic  description  of 
the  earthquake  at  San  Francisco,  or  the  battle  of  the 
Marne,  that  the  truth  which  all  that  was  to  illustrate  is 
quite  obliterated,  and  the  audience  go  out  thinking  of 
earthquake  and  battle,  quite  oblivious  of  the  gospel. 
The  speaker  or  writer  must  feel,  and  so  express  himself 
as  to  make  readers  or  hearers  feel,  that  the  image  is  but 
a  partial  representation  of  a  grander,  mightier  thought. 
Illustrations  must  be  like  the  electric  lights  around  Ni- 
agara, only  revealing  the  majestic  cataract  that  has  been 
thundering  down,  whether  in  light  or  darkness,  through 
the  ages. 

The  controlling  rule  is  that  laid  down  by  Dr.  Samuel 
Johnson : 

"A  simile,  to  be  perfect,  must  both  illustrate  and  ennoble 
its  subject."  * 

THE  METAPHOR. — Metaphor  is  closely  akin  to  simile, 
but  is  more  vigorous,  intense,  and  vivacious.  When  the 
simile  says,  "This  is  like  that,"  we  realize  that  the 
resemblance  may  be  only  in  some  one  feature,  all  non- 
resembling  elements  being  left  out  of  consideration. 
But  when  the  metaphor  says,  "This  is  that,"  the  re- 
semblance is  affirmed  to  be  so  close  and  striking  that 
the  one  word  or  thing  may  be  substituted  for  the  other. 
When  we  read,  ' '  The  Lord  is  my  rock  and  my  fortress, 
.."  .  .  my  shield  and  my  trust,"  we  see  how  much 


*  "Lives  of  the  Poets." 


FIGURES    OF    SPEECH  377 

more  forcible  those  metaphors  are  than  the  correspond- 
ing similes  would  have  been,  ''The  Lord  is  like  a  shield 
and  a  fortress  to  me. ' '  The  mind  comes  with  one  bound, 
as  it  were,  to  the  fulness  of  meaning. 

Metaphor  is  not  merely  in  nouns,  however,  but  often 
also  in  verbs  and  adjectives.  When  Pope  says,*  "Shoot 
folly  as  it  flies,"  the  noun  "folly"  is  used  in  its  ordinary 
and  literal  meaning.  The  metaphor  is  in  the  verbs 
"shoot"  and  "flies,"  the  mind  instinctively  likening 
"folly"  to  a  bird,  which  can  be  shot  on  the  wing.  Byron 
writes,!  when  he  would  picture  the  vanished  glory  of 
Greece : 

"The  warrior's  weapon  and  the  sophist's  stole 
Are  sought  in  vain,  and  o'er  each  mouldering  tower, 
Dim  with  the  mist  of  years,  gray  flits  the  shade  of  power." 

Here  some  would  seek  the  metaphor  wholly  in  the  noun 
' '  shade, ' '  but  how  feeble  it  would  be,  if  that  were  all : — 
the  power  of  Greece  has  become  a  "shade!"  The  full 
effect  of  the  imagery  is  found  only  by  including  the  ad- 
jectives and  the  verb:  "dim  with  the  mist  of  years," 
"gray  (with  unmeasured  age)";  "flits  (silent,  ghost- 
like) the  shade  of  power." 

The  limitations  upon  the  use  of  metaphor  are  in  many 
respects  the  same  as  those  already  stated  upon  the  use  of 
simile.  The  metaphor  must  not  be  worn  and  hackneyed : 
— "He  drowned  his  sorrows  in  the  flowing  bowl;" 
"They  have  drifted  down  the  stream  of  time;"  "He 
entered  on  the  stage  of  public  life;"  "He  shuffled  off 
this  mortal  coil,"  etc.  When  some  speaker  first  said, 
"Another  year  has  rolled  around,"  the  figure  was  beau- 
tiful and  impressive  with  the  thought  that  the  great 


*  "Essay  on  Man."  Ep.  1,  line  13. 
f  "Childe  Harold,"  Can.  ii,  St.  ii. 


378  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

wheel  of  time  had  completed  another  annual  cycle,  but 
the  metaphor  now  comes  forth  like  a  forlorn  old  gar- 
ment from  an  attic,  threadbare,  faded,  musty,  and  dusty. 
Its  instant  effect  is  to  suggest  that  the  speaker  or  writer 
is  incapable  of  evolving  a  new  thought,  and  has  invited 
us  to  a  "rummage  sale"  of  ancient  relics.  The  unfor- 
tunate survival  cheapens  all  else  he  may  have  to  say. 

One  exception  should  be  noted  here.  We  may  use  the 
old  and  familiar  if  by  some  original  suggestion  we  can 
make  it  new.  Under  the  quickening  touch  of  imagina- 
tion, even  the  dead  metaphor  comes  to  life.  To  com- 
pare a  young  girl  to  a  flower,  for  instance,  is  a  suffi- 
ciently familiar  figure  of  speech ;  but  how  new  it  becomes 
in  Wordsworth's  lines: 

"She  dwelt  among  the  untrodden  ways 

Beside  the  springs  of  Dove, 
A  maid  whom  there  were  none  to  praise, 
And  very  few  to  love. 

"A  violet  by  a  mossy  stone 

Half  hidden  from  the  eye."  .  .  . 

Then,  to  this  beautiful  metaphor  he  adds  a  loftier  sim- 
tte: 

"Fair  as  a  star,  when  only  one 
Is  shining  in  the  sky." 

In  the  midst  of  the  dubious  battle  of  Picardy  that 
opened  the  campaign  of  1918  in  France,  the  memorable 
proclamation  of  Field  Marshal  Haig,  which  will  be  one 
of  the  immortal  documents  of  the  war,  centers  and 
turns  upon  a  metaphor.  After  reciting  the  terrific 
onslaught  of  one  hundred  and  six  hostile  divisions  of 
the  enemy  along  a  fifty  mile  front,  stayed  only  by  the 
"determined  fighting  and  self-sacrifice"  of  the  British 


FIGURES   OP   SPEECH  379 

troops,  with  the  Channel  coast  and  ports  in  all  too  close 
proximity  behind  their  line,  the  commander  says : 

"Every  position  must  be  held  to  the  last  man.  There 
must  be  no  retirement.  WITH  OUR  BACKS  TO  THE  WALL,  and 
believing  in  the  justice  of  our  cause,  each  one  of  us  must 
fight  to  the  end." 

The  heart-beat  stops  with  the  recognition  that  this 
great  and  splendid  army,  the  last  hope  of  the  banded 
nations,  has  now,  in  very  deed,  its  "back  to  the  wall." 
The  thrill  of  resistance  stiffens,  the  summons  to  the  last 
energy  of  endurance  reaches  down  into  the  far  depths 
of  the  soul.  "Whoever  reads,  whoever  remembers,  that 
proclamation  will  read  or  remember  it  with  these  words 
as  the  key-note  "with  our  backs  to  the  wall." 

By  such  remolding  under  the  power  of  imagination 
and  sensibility,  the  common  ceases  to  be  commonplace. 
To  have  the  power  of  accomplishing  such  results,  the 
speaker  or  writer  needs  to  live  every  possible  moment 
among  the  exalted  things  of  life — the  beautiful,  the  re- 
fined, the  inspiring.  He  should  read  freely  and  gener- 
ously the  best  poetry  and  prose,  including  the  world's 
great  orations;  his  reading  should  be  chiefly  of  books, 
rather  than  of  newspapers  and  magazines;  and  those 
books  should  be  the  classics,  that  have  been  approved 
by  the  world's  best  thought,  and  that  have  lived  long 
enough  to  die,  if  it  were  possible  for  them  to  die, — the 
immortals.  With  this  must  be  joined  loving  study  of 
the  beautiful  and  grand  in  nature  and  in  art,  and  asso- 
ciation with  persons  of  the  strongest  intellect,  the  finest 
taste,  the  best  powers  of  expression,  the  noblest  and 
purest  character  that  one  may  be  able  to  make  his  com- 
panions. Of  course,  one  who  would  have  widest  influ- 
ence must  also  be  friendly  with  those  who  can  not  di- 
rectly help  him.  It  is  much  to  know  average  human 


380  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

wishes  and  needs,  and  how  to  help  those  who  have  least 
to  give;  but  for  the  strongest  and  worthiest  influence 
over  those  who  need  it  most,  one  must  have  stores  to 
give  them  such  as  they  themselves  could  never  gather. 
Then  that  high  tribute  of  olden  time  may  be  true  of  him, 
"He  touched  nothing  that  he  did  not  adorn." 

In  metaphor,  especially,  care  must  be  exercised  to 
avoid  the  mingling  of  incongruous  elements  in  the  same 
construction.  The  metaphor  is  more  exposed  to  this 
danger  than  the  simile.  For  the  simile  is  deliberate  and 
careful  in  statement,  with  its  "as"  or  "like,"  so  that 
one  is  not  apt  to  say  in  formal  phrase  that  the  same 
thing  is  "like"  two  incompatible  things.  But  the  meta- 
phor is  so  sudden,  abrupt,  and  momentary,  that  one  may 
be  whirled  along  in  the  rush  of  thought  to  associate  com- 
parisons that  go  very  ill  together.  For  avoiding  this, 
the  two  chief  cautions  to  be  given  are : 

1.  Never  mix  a  metaphorical  with  a  literal  statement 
in  the  same  immediate  connection.     Thus: 

"Boyle  was  the  father  of  chemistry  and  the  brother  of  the 

Earl  of  Cork." 

* 

After  the  metaphorical  statement  that  "Boyle  was 
the  father  of  chemistry,"  we  are  expecting  the  meta- 
phorical still ;  the  mind  has  not  time  to  adjust  itself  to 
the  sudden  drop  to  a  literal  statement,  but  comes  down 
with  a  jolt. 

2.  Never  mix  in  the  same  statement  images  that  are 
incompatible  or  mutually  contradictory.   Thus  Addison 
writes : 

"I  bridle  in  my  struggling  Muse  with  pain, 
That  longs  to  launch  into  a  nobler  strain." 

Here  the  metaphors  are  contained  in  the  two  verbs, 
"bridle"  and  "launch."  By  the  first  the  Muse  is  com- 


FIGURES    OF   SPEECH  381 

pared  to  a  horse  that  must  be  restrained  by  bit  and 
"bridle;"  then,  suddenly,  in  the  very  same  sentence, 
the  horse  is  eager  to  "launch,"  as  a  ship,  upon  the  sea 
of  lofty  theme!  It  is  related  that  an  ambitious  young 
preacher,  extolling  the  glory  of  the  church,  pictured  it 
as  a  ship  "sailing  grandly  on  through  battle  and  storm, 
past  dangerous  shoals  and  shores,"  and  then  went  on  to 
say: 

"After  all  this  stormy  voyage,  the  majestic  church  still 
floats  in  triumphant  majesty.  And  now,  my  brethren,  why 
does  it  float?  Because  it  is  founded  upon  a  rock!" 

His  closing  thought  was  excellent,  and  eminently 
Scriptural,  but  its  connection  was  most  unfortunate. 
On  the  eve  of  the  Civil  War  it  is  credibly  reported  that 
a  fiery  newspaper  writer  burst  forth  with  this  tremen- 
dous warning: 

"The  apple  of  discord  has  been  thrown  in  our  midst,  and 
unless  it  is  nipped  in  the  bud,  it  will  break  forth  in  a  confla- 
gration that  will  deluge  our  land  in  blood." 

Here  are  other  specimens : 

"We  plunge  into  the  sea  of  life,  having  a  divine  hand  at 
the  helm." 

"Democracy  began  her  reign  by  feeling  the  public  pulse, 
and  trimrrumg  her  sails,  so  as  not  to  collide  too  violently 
with  it." 

That  is,  Democracy  began  to  "reign"  as  a  queen,  but 
was  immediately  transformed  into  a  physician,  "feel- 
ing the  public  pulse,"  and  then  swiftly  became  a  navi- 
gator, "trimming  her  sails,"  with  the  thoughtful  en- 
deavor "not  to  collide"  with  the  "public  pulse!"  After 
such  precaution  Democracy  certainly  should  be  secure. 
A  sovereign  remedy  against  all  confusions  such  as  these 
is, — if  you  are  not  sure  how  to  manage  your  metaphor, 


382  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

drop  it,  and  give  a  plain  literal  statement.  That,  it  may 
be  hoped,  will  at  least  be  sense. 

Independently  of  the  danger  above  defined,  the 
speaker  or  writer  must  beware  of  using  for  the  purpose 
of  metaphor  a  word  or  phrase  that  is  in  itself  belittling. 
Thus,  one  reporter  acclaimed  an  eminent  speaker  as 
' '  one  of  the  stars  of  the  horizon  of  oratory. ' '  When  we 
take  the  real  meaning  of  " horizon,"  as  the  boundary 
between  earth  and  sky,  we  see  that  a  "star  of  the  ho- 
rizon" is  just  as  low  down  as  it  can  be,  to  be  visible  at 
all.  Hence,  the  metaphor  was  the  reverse  of  a  compli- 
ment to  the  orator.  Again,  an  advertiser  said  of  a  cer- 
tain volume,  "It  is  the  peer  of  any  other  work  on  this 
subject."  He  meant  to  say,  doubtless,  that  it  is  superior 
to  any  other,  from  some  confused  idea  that  a  "peer"  is 
a  nobleman,  superior  to  the  common  man.  But  "peer" 
in  such  connection  as  that  above  quoted  means  an  equal. 
When  the  law  provides  that  an  accused  person  "shall 
be  judged  by  a  jury  of  his  peers,"  the  meaning  is  not  a 
jury  of  noblemen, — the  very  thing  the  common  man  in 
the  old  days  would  most  desire  to  be  saved  from, — but 
by  a  jury  of  his  equals,  citizens  of  the  same  rank,  and 
with  the  same  rights  as  himself.  So  when  Milton  wrote, 
''For  Lycidas  is  dead,  and  hath  not  left  his  peer," 
his  meaning  was  that  Lycidas  had  left  no  equal.  Thus 
you  do  not  give  a  book  distinctive  praise  by  saying  that 
"  it  is  the  peer  of  any, ' ' — that  is  to  say,  ' '  as  good  as  the 
rest  of  them." 

ANTITHESIS. — Antithesis  may  be  considered  in  this 
connection  as  a  reversed  simile  or  metaphor,  though  it 
may  also  consist  in  other  forms  of  opposition  of  ideas, 
that  gain  force  by  being  set  against  each  other;  as 
white  is  best  seen  against  black,  or  as  a  sudden  sound 
is  heard  with  wonderful  distinctness  when  it  breaks  in 


FIGURES    OF    SPEECH  383 

on  the  hush  of  midnight.  A  fine  example  of  the  re* 
versed  simile  occurs  in  Mrs.  Hemans '  poem,  ' '  The  Land- 
ing of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers:" 

"Not  as  the  conqueror  comes, 

They,  the  true-hearted  came, 
Not  with  the  roll  of  the  stirring  drums, 
And  the  trumpet  that  sings  of  fame; 

"Not  as  the  flying  come, 

In  silence  and  in  fear; 
They  shook  the  depths  of  the  desert's  gloom 
With  their  hymns  of  lofty  cheer." 

The  one  sure  rule  for  all  forms  of  antithesis  is  to 
make  all  other  things  in  the  contrasted  clauses  as  like 
as  possible,  that  the  full  effect  of  the  contrast  may  fall 
upon  the  elements  that  are  opposed.  Nouns  should  be 
contrasted  with  nouns,  verbs  with  verbs,  etc.,  and  the 
order  of  words  in  the  contrasted  clauses  or  phrases 
should  be  as  nearly  as  possible  the  same.  Thus  a  black 
and  a  white  object  are  in  sharpest  contrast  if  both  are 
cubes,  or  if  both  are  spheres,  or  the  like.  When  the  con- 
trasted sentences,  clauses,  or  phrases  are  alike  in  all  else, 
the  contrasted  terms  stand  sharply  out.  Macaulay  is 
the  supreme  master  of  antithesis  in  English  literature, — 
a  style  in  which  he  had  such  facility  that  he  often  used 
it  to  excess.  Yet  constantly  in  his  writings  it  bursts 
upon  the  reader  with  exceeding  vigor  and  effectiveness. 
Thus  he  says  of  certain  Royalists  of  the  Restoration : 

"They  valued  a  prayer  or  a  ceremony,  not  on  account  of 
the  comfort  which  it  conveyed  to  themselves,  but  on  account 
of  the  vexation  which  it  gave  to  the  Roundheads,  and  were  so 
far  from  being  disposed  to  purchase  union  by  concession  that 
they  objected  to  concession  chiefly  because  it  tended  to  pro- 
duce union."  * 


*  "History  of  England,"  Ch.  ii,  p.  102. 


384  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

PARADOX. — Paradox  differs  from  antithesis  in  not 
really  stating  the  contrary  or  converse,  but  only  ap- 
pearing to  do  so;  especially  in  stating,  not  the  con- 
trary of  what  has  been  said,  but  of  what  the  mind  would 
naturally  expect  as  likely  to  be  said.  It  often  affirms 
something  which  at  first  thought  seems  false,  but  which 
is  afterward  seen  to  be  really  and  deeply  true.  Thus, 
in  the  saying  attributed  to  the  veteran  diplomatist, 
Talleyrand,  "Speech  was  given  to  man  to  disguise  his 
thoughts,"  the  mind  would  expect  the  conclusion  to  be, 
"to  express  or  reveal  his  thoughts;"  but  there  are  cer- 
tain astute  and  secretive  persons  who  are  never  so  far 
from  revealing  their  real  intent  as  when  they  seem  to 
talk  most  freely,  leading  the  hearer  farther  away  every 
moment  from  what  he  would  learn,  along  trails  of  other 
ideas  that  lose  him  in  the  wilderness.  Paradox,  how- 
ever, is  often  very  effective  in  rousing  the  mind  by  the 
effect  of  surprise,  and,  by  its  convincing  truth  in  spite 
of  first  appearances,  making  a  statement  unforgetable. 

EPIGRAM. — This  has  been  defined  as,  "any  brief  say- 
ing remarkable  for  brevity  and  point. ' '  Epigram  is  fre- 
quently marked  by  antithesis  or  paradox.  Sometimes 
it  makes  its  point  by  a  mere  play  upon  words.  Most  of 
the  familiar  proverbs  are  epigrams.  Of  the  paradoxi- 
cal form,  "The  child  is  the  father  of  the  man"  is  a  fa- 
miliar example.  The  following  are  some  noticeable  epi- 
grams : 

"The  royal  crown  cures  not  the  headache." 
"The  scalded  dog  fears  cold  water." 
"Three  may  keep  a  secret,  if  two  of  them  are  dead." 
"We  could  not  see  the  wood  for  the  trees." 
"Weakness  of  mind  is  the  only  fault  incapable  of  correc- 
tion." 

The  epigrammatic  style  is  at  present  very  popular 


FIGURES    OF    SPEECH  385 

among  certain  classes.  Jaded  minds,  persons  perishing 
for  a  "thrill",  empty  minds,  drowsy  intellects,  too  in- 
dolent to  think  any  truth  through,  welcome  the  pepper 
and  mustard  of  epigram  as  pleasant  substitutes  for 
thought.  That  the  style  leads  nowhere  does  not  dis- 
turb those  who  have  no  mental  end  in  view.  Epigram, 
however,  when  overdone,  at  length  becomes  wearisome. 
A  dinner  is  not  expected  to  consist  wholly  of  condi- 
ments; there  comes  ultimately  a  demand  for  something 
to  eat.  Epigram  in  excess  also  gives  the  appearance  of 
insincerity.  It  becomes  evident  that  the  author's  chief 
care  is  to  say  the  smart — or  the  smarting — thing,  and 
we  know  that  men  really  and  deeply  in  earnest  do  not 
talk  or  write  that  way.  The  real  use  of  epigram  is,  after 
something  has  been  proved  or  illustrated,  to  pack  the 
truth  into  some  compendious  phrase  that  memory  will 
not  let  die. 

IRONY. — Irony  is  an  unspoken  antithesis,  where  one 
thing  is  said,  in  order  that  the  contrary  may  be  under- 
stood, as  when  Job  says  to  his  professed  friends,  "No 
doubt  but  ye  are  the  people,  and  wisdom  shall  die 
with  you";  or  when  Elijah  said  to  the  prophets  of  Baal, 
* '  Cry  aloud,  for  he  is  a  god,  either  he  is  talking,  or  he  is 
pursuing,  or  he,  is  in  a  journey,  or  peradventure  he 
sleepeth,  and  must  be  awaked."  Irony  is  one  of  the 
most  natural  of  the  figures  of  speech;  it  is  freely  used 
by  children  and  by  uneducated  people,  and  is  at  times 
a  very  effective  weapon  of  attack ;  but  it  falls  below  the 
highest  dignity,  and  in  the  best  writing  and  speaking 
can  be  but  sparingly  used. 

The  books  tell  of  two  figures  of  speech,  called  Meton- 
ymy and  Synechdoche,  which  few  persons  in  active 
life  really  notice,  but  which  we  all  constantly  use,  be- 
cause they  are  inwrought  into  language.  Most  persons 


386  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

find  it  very  hard  to  distinguish,  one  of  these  from  the 
other: — by  which  we  may  be  sure  that  the  distinction 
is  not  very  important.  In  fact,  metonymy  includes 
synechdoche,  so  that  we  may  concentrate  our  attention 
wholly  upon  metonymy.  Of  this,  the  best  definition  I 
have  seen  is  that  of  Dr.  Quackenbos  (Rhetoric,  Pt.  iii, 
Lesson  1,  p.  248)  : 

"Metonymy  is  the  exchange  of  names  between  things  re- 
lated. It  is  founded  not  upon  resemblance,  but  upon  rela- 
tion." 

Herein  metonymy  differs  from  metaphor.  If  one  thing 
is  put  for  another  because  of  resemblance,  we  have  meta- 
phor; if  because  of  relation,  we  have  metonymy.  Me- 
tonymy puts  ''gray  hairs"  for  "old  age";  the  "bottle" 
for  "drunkenness";  "the  Crescent"  for  "Mohammed- 
anism"; "the  Cross"  for  "Christianity";  "the  crown" 
for  the  "royal  authority";  "the  bench"  for  the  "judge 
or  judges  " ;  "  the  bar ' '  for  ' '  lawyers  collectively  " ;  "  the 
chair"  for  (the  one  occupying  it)  "the  moderator";  a 
"sail"  or  a  "keel"  for  a  "ship";  "roof"  for  "house" 
or  "home",  etc. 

Metonymy  is  a  familiar,  pleasing,  and  often  a  very 
powerful  figure.  Thus,  "England"  may  be  put  for  all 
that  England  represents: — its  territory,  with  its  hills 
and  vales  and  streams  and  cities;  its  people,  with  all 
they  believe  and  all  they  cherish;  its  place  among  the 
nations,  its  reputation  for  every  quality  that  English- 
men stand  for,  and  that  the  world  honors;  its  history 
and  its  hopes.  All  that  was  meant  in  Nelson's  signal, 
"ENGLAND  expects  every  man  to  do  his  duty";  and 
every  man  in  the  fleet  understood  it,  and  felt  that  it  was 
for  him  to  be  worthy  of  the  utmost  that  great  name 
could  mean. 

INTERROGATION. — Interrogation,  as  a  rhetorical  figure, 


FIGURES    OF    SPEECH  387 

differs  from  the  ordinary  asking  of  questions  in  that 
it  asks  a  question  to  which  the  speaker  or  writer  knows 
the  answer,  though  he  deems  it  more  effective  to  ask 
the  hearer  or  reader  to  supply  it  for  himself.  It  may 
be  a  question  the  answer  to  which  will  spring  instantly 
to  the  mind  of  the  person  addressed,  but  will  come  with 
more  emphasis  when  formulated  as  an  answer  to  a 
direct  question.  Ehetorical  interrogation  has  two  main 
uses: 

1.  To  awaken  expectancy.    The  hearer  may  not  know 
the  answer,  but  is  instantly  intent  to  find  one.    We  all 
know  how  a  conundrum  will  at  once  enliven  a  dull  com- 
pany, because  each  person  feels  it  a  challenge  to  his  in- 
genuity, and  sets  his  wits  to  work  to  supply  an  answer. 
Interrogation,  so  used,  gives  the  hearer  or  reader  an  ex- 
pectant interest  in  all  the  speaker  or  writer  may  now 
have  to  advance.     He  is  searching  his  own  thought  to 
see  if  he  himself  can  answer  the  question,  and,  if  not, 
to  see  whether  the  speaker  or  writer  can. 

2.  The  second  main  use  of  rhetorical  interrogation  is 
to  clinch  conviction,  by  making  the  person  addressed 
supply  an  inevitable  answer.    That  answer  may  be  some 
essential  and  self-evident  truth,  which  no  one  can  doubt ; 
or  it  may  spring  from  facts  so  well-known  that  they 
need  not  be  mentioned.     Then  the  question  has  power 
by  simply  recalling  well-known  truth  or  fact,  and  bring- 
ing it  into  connection  with  the  matter  in  hand: — often 
a  great  achievement.    Or,  the  answer  may  be  from  fact 
and  argument  which  the  speaker  or  writer  has  already 
given,  and  in  regard  to  which  he  appeals  to  the  reader 
or  hearer  to  say,  what  is  now  the  inescapable  conclusion  1 
A  famed  oration  of  Patrick  Henry,  which  all  American 
schoolboys  have  loved  to  declaim,  bristles  with  rousing 
interrogation, — seventeen  questions  in  twenty-six  lines. 


388  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

"Judging  by  the  past,  I  wish  to  know  what  there  has  been 
in  the  conduct  of  the  British  ministry  for  the  last  ten  years 
to  justify  those  hopes  with  which  gentlemen  have  been  pleased 
to  solace  themselves  and  the  House?  .  .  .  Are  fleets  and 
armies  necessary  to  a  work  of  love  and  reconciliation?  .  .  . 
I  ask  gentlemen,  Sir,  what  means  this  martial  array,  if  its 
purpose  be  not  to  force  us  to  submission?  Can  gentlemen 
assign  any  other  possible  motive  for  it?  Has  Great  Britain 
any  enemy  in  this  quarter  of  the  world  to  call  for  all  this 
assemblage  of  navies  and  armies  ?  .  .  .  And  what  have  we  to 
oppose  to  them?  Shall  we  try  argument?  Sir,  we  have  been 
trying  that  for  the  last  ten  years.  Shall  we  resort  to  entreaty 
and  humble  supplication  ?  What  terms  shall  we  find  that 
have  not  already  been  exhausted? 

"They  tell  us,  Sir,  that  we  are  weak.  .  .  .  But  when  shall 
we  be  stronger?  Will  it  be  the  next  week  or  the  next  year? 
Will  it  be  when  we  are  totally  disarmed,  and  when  a  British 
guard  shall  be  stationed  in  every  house?  Shall  we  gather 
strength  by  irresolution  and  inaction?  Shall  we  acquire  the 
means  of  effectual  resistance  by  lying  supinely  on  our  backs, 
and  hugging  the  delusive  phantoms  of-  hope,  till  our  enemies 
have  bound  us  hand  and  foot?  .  .  .  Our  brethren  are  already 
in  the  field.  Why  stand  we  here  idle?  What  is  it  that  gen- 
tlemen wish?  What  would  they  have?  Is  life  so  dear,  or 
peace  so  sweet,  as  to  be  purchased  at  the  price  of  chains  and 
.slavery?  (To  all  which,  clinching  the  sure  decision  of  every 
patriotic  heart,  he  fulminates  his  own  eager  answer.)  For- 
Md  it,  Almighty  God!" 

See  how  the  swift  questions  crowd  the  argument  on! 
The  power  of  interrogation  is,  that,  if  properly  used,  it 
compels  the  reader  or  hearer  to  answer  the  question 
from  his  own  mind.  Thus  the  answer  seems  to  him, — 
and  is, — not  something  that  the  writer  or  speaker  has 
thrust  upon  him,  but  something  that  he  himself  has 
evolved  by  his  own  thinking;  and  there  is  no  such  tri- 
umph of  eloquence  as  when  the  one  addressed  is  made 
to  think  of  the  conclusion  as  his  very  own, — the  irre- 
sistible working  of  his  own  mind. 


FIGURES    OF    SPEECH  389 

EXCLAMATION  is  another  eminently  natural  figure  of 
speech.  Its  power  is  that,  in  it,  art  follows  nature,  as  a 
skilful  landscape  gardener  follows  natural  vales  and 
dells  and  heights  in  laying  out  a  park,  only  removing 
what  is  harsh,  inharmonious,  or  unsightly.  Thus  Job, 
in  his  distress,  says  of  his  God,  who  seems  to  have  for- 
saken him : 

"Oh,  that  I  knew  where  I  might  find  him!  that  I  might 
come  even  to  his  seat!  I  would  order  my  cause  before  him, 
and  fill  my  mouth  with  arguments." 

The  limitation  is,  that  the  thought  must  be  really 
great  or  thrilling  enough  to  justify  the  form.  Other- 
wise the  exclamation  seems  like  a  poor  bit  of  acting. 
The  climax  of  such  pretense  is,  when  the  inexperienced 
but  gushing  young  writer  relies  for  the  whole  force  of 
exclamatory  utterance  upon  the  exclamation-point  at 
the  end  of  a  sentence  that  would  have  been  much  better 
closed  with  a  period. 

PERSONIFICATION. — This  figure  of  speech  treats  things 
without  life  as  persons,  with  all  the  qualities  of  living 
beings.  The  things  personified  may  be  inanimate  ob- 
jects, as  rocks,  mountains,  sun,  moon,  stars,  etc. ;  or  they 
may  be  abstract  ideas  or  qualities,  as  truth,  falsehood, 
virtue,  vice,  etc. ;  or  organized  entities,  as  church,  state, 
family,  or  the  like.  Whenever  an  object  without  life  is 
treated  as  possessing  the  attributes  of  living  beings,  we 
have  personification. 

One  of  the  simplest  and  readiest  forms  of  personifica- 
tion is  by  the  use  of  pronouns.  Since,  in  English,  all 
inanimate  objects  are  of  the  neuter  gender,  designated 
by  "it"  or  "its",  the  application  to  such  an  object  of 
a  masculine  or  feminine  pronoun  at  once  personifies  it. 
Thus,  when  the  familiar  hymn  says  of  the  Church: 


390  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

'Tor  her  my  tears  shall  fall, 

For  her  my  prayers  ascend, 
To  her  my  toils  and  cares  be  given, 
Till  toils  and  cares  shall  end," 

we  readily  perceive  how  much  higher  and  more  tender  is 
the  effect  than  if  the  lines  were  made  to  read,  "For  it 
my  tears  shall  fall,"  etc. 

Nearly  akin  to  this  personification  by  pronouns  is  per- 
sonification by  adjectives, — which  is  so  common  as  often 
not  to  be  recognized  as  a  figure  of  speech.  Man  so  nat- 
urally ascribes  his  own  feelings  and  motives  to  the  ele- 
ments and  the  natural  objects  around  him,  that  he  almost 
instinctively  speaks  of  "an  angry  sea,"  "the  thirsty 
ground",  etc.  Yet  such  figures  are  capable  of  great 
power  and  beauty. 

Still  more  effective  is  personification  by  verbs,  because 
then  inanimate  objects  are  represented  as  acting  in  a 
way  appropriate  to  living  beings.  "With  verbs  so  used, 
nouns  are  often  very  effectively  associated  to  complete 
the  expression  of  personal  action,  as  when  the  prophet 
says: 

"The  mountains  saw  thee,  and  they  trembled; 

The  overflowing  of  the  water  passed  by; 
The  deep  uttered  his  voice, 

And  lifted  up  his  hands  on  high" 

Hebrew  poetry  is  very  rich  in  such  personification,  often 
reaching  the  highest  sublimity  of  imagery,  making  all 
nature  respond  to  the  spiritual  ideas  expressed.  There 
is  no  storehouse  of  such  utterance  comparable  to  the 
Scriptures  of  the  Old  Testament.  This  element  also 
runs,  often  unnoticed,  through  our  poetry  and  the  high- 
est oratory,  as  well  as  description  and  narrative,  and 
even  lights  up  common  speech.  We  catch  the  gleam, — 
the  light,  life,  and  feeling  it  imparts,  without  analyzing 


FIGURES    OF    SPEECH  391 

the  utterance  to  find  the  source  of  the  impression.    Thus, 
in  Campbell's  " Pleasures  of  Hope": 

"Why  do  those  cliffs  of  shadowy  tint  appear 
More  sweet  than  all  the  landscape  smiling  near?" 

Or  when  Shakespeare  makes  Cassius  tell  how 

"The  torrent  roard,  and  we  did  buffet  it, 
With  lusty  sinews  throwing  it  aside, 
And  stemming  it,  with  hearts  of  controversy." 

Or  Bryant,  in  his  ''Hymn  to  the  North  Star": 

"The  sad  and  solemn  night 
Hath  yet  her  multitude  of  cheerful  fires; 

The  glorious  host  of  light 
Walk  the  dark  hemisphere  till  she  retires." 

APOSTROPHE. — This  is  a  form  of  impassioned  address 
to  some  absent  or  unseen  person,  as  to  some  departed 
hero,  to  the  Deity,  or  to  some  personified  quality  or 
attribute,  or  even  to  some  inanimate  object  that  one 
would  bring  into  the  foreground  by  strong  appeal. 
Apostrophe  is  frequently,  but  not  always  or  necessa- 
rily combined  with  personification.  Consider  Webster's 
apostrophe  to  the  dead,  that  breaks  in  upon  his  address 
to  the  surviving  soldiers  of  Bunker  Hill :  * 

"But,  alas !  you  are  not  all  here !  Time  and  the  sword  have 
thinned  your  ranks.  Prescott,  Putnam,  Stark,  Brooks,  Reed, 
Pomeroy,  Bridge! — our  eyes  seek  for  you  in  vain  amid  this 
broken  band.  But  let  us  not  too  much  grieve  that  you  have 
met  the  common  fate  of  men.  You  lived  to  see  your  coun- 
try's independence  established  and  to  sheathe  your  swords 
from  war.  On  the  light  of  Liberty,  you  saw  arise  the  light 
of  Peace,  like  'another  morn  risen  on  mid-noon;'  and  the 
sky  on  which  you  closed  your  eyes  was  cloudless. 

"But — ah — him!  the  first  great  martyr  in  this  great  cause! 
.  .  .  falling  ere  he  saw  the  star  of  his  country  rise;  pouring 

*  First  Bunker  Hill  Oration,  June  17,  1825. 


392  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

out  his  generous  blood  like  water,  before  he  knew  whether 
it  would  fertilize  a  land  of  freedom  or  of  bondage! — how 
shall  I  struggle  with  the  emotions  that  stifle  the  utterance 
of  thy  name!  Our  poor  work  may  perish,  but  thine  shall 
endure !  .  .  .  Wheresoever  among  men  a  heart  shall  be  found 
that  beats  to  the  transports  of  patriotism  and  liberty,  its 
aspirations  shall  be  to  claim  kindred  with  thy  spirit!" 

HYPERBOLE. — As  a  figure  of  speech,  hyperbole  is  in- 
tentional overstatement,  intended  to  be  understood  as 
overstatement.  In  this  it  differs  from  mere  exaggera- 
tion, which  may  be  due  to  carelessness,  ignorance  or 
recklessness,  and  has  none  of  the  artistic  qualities  that 
give  hyperbole  rhetorical  consideration.  Hyperbole  is 
one  of  the  most  dangerous  of  the  figures  of  speech. 
If  too  much  indulged  in,  it  tends  to  degenerate  into 
mere  exaggeration;  and  exaggeration  has  the  cumula- 
tive power  of  all  intoxicants.  The  victim  of  the  habit 
becomes  unaware  of  his  own  excess,  and  feels  any 
sober,  literal  statement  to  be  flat  and  tame.  On  the 
other  hand,  audiences  or  readers  long  fed  upon  such  a 
style  come  to  miss  their  wonted  stimulus,  when  offered 
sober  truth.  The  ' '  thrill ' '  is  lacking ;  and  the  dose  must 
be  constantly  increased.  This  explains  the  wild  utter- 
ances often  heard  in  political,  and  even  in  reform,  con- 
ventions. It  is  only  the  extreme  statement  that  gets  the 
applause,  and  speakers  are  thus  tempted  on  to  more  and 
more  desperate  excess.  At  the  same  time,  for  judicious 
readers  or  hearers,  exaggerated  utterance  loses  the  sense 
of  reality, — of  the  practical,  the  exact,  and  the  true. 
They  are  compelled  always  to  make  allowance,  and  come 
to  allow  too  much,  like  the  man  who  loses  his  train 
because  his  watch  was  fast,  and  he  has  overdiscounted 
the  discrepancy.  The  extreme  utterance  may  excite,  but 
the  substantial  alone  convinces. 

The  essential  thing  about  hyperbole  is,  that  the  speaker 


FIGURES    OF    SPEECH  393 

or  writer,  together  with  the  hearers  or  readers,  shall 
recognize  it  as  conscious  overstatement  made  for  the 
.sake  of  impressive  imagery.  Then  from  the  telling  figure 
it  is  always  possible  to  pass  to  the  dealing  with  literal 
fact  or  practical  duty.  This  figure  may  be  used  play- 
fully with  pleasing  effect,  as  when  Hawthorne  writes : 

"On  this  particular  afternoon,  so  excessive  was  the  warmth 
of  Judge  Pyncheon's  kindly  aspect  that  (such,  at  least,  was 
the  rumor  about  town)  an  additional  passage  of  the  water- 
carts  was  found  essential,  in  order  to  lay  the  dust  occasioned 
hy  so  much  extra  sunshine." 

On  the  other  hand,  hyperbole  may  rise  to  the  height 
of  the  sublime.  This,  again,  is  especially  the  case  in  the 
Hebrew  poetry,  where  the  exuberance  and  the  limitless 
daring  of  the  Oriental  imagination  have  full  sway.  Thus 
we  see  it  in  that  psalm  of  David,  ' '  when  the  Lord  deliv- 
ered him  out  of  the  hand  of  all  his  enemies  and  from 
the  hand  of  Saul ' ' : 

"In  my  distress  I  called  upon  the  Lord,  and  cried  unto  my 
God :  he  heard  my  voice  out  of  his  temple,  and  my  cry  came 
before  him,  even  into  his  ears. 

"Then  the  earth  shook  and  trembled;  the  foundations  also 
of  the  hills  moved  and  were  shaken,  because  he  was  wroth. 

"He  bowed  the  heavens  also,  and  came  down:  and  darkness 
was  under  his  feet.  The  Lord  also  thundered  in  the  heavens, 
and  the  Highest  gave  his  voice. 

"He  sent  from  above,  he  took  me,  he  drew  me  out  of  many 
waters." 

The  trial  had  been  so  terrible,  the  danger  so  over- 
whelming, that  the  deliverance,  as  pictured  in  vivid 
remembrance,  was  as  if  all  that  had  happened,  and  all 
nature  had  been  moved  at  the  mighty  intervention  of 
Jehovah.  Then  fitly  follows  the  calm  literal  statement : 

"He  delivered  me  from  my  strong  enemy,  and  from  them 
which  hated  me :  for  they  were  too  strong  for  me." 


394  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

CLIMAX. — This  is  one  of  the  mightiest  of  rhetorical 
figures.  The  word  is  from  the  Greek  klimax, ' '  a  ladder ' ', 
thought  of  only  as  a  means  of  ascent.  Coming  down  is 
so  easy  that  rhetoric  takes  no  account  of  it,  except  as  a 
blemish  under  the  name  of  anti-climax.  Climax  is  such 
an  advance  of  thought  that  each  new  idea,  each  new 
word,  leads  the  mind  on  to  something  higher,  stronger, 
more  beautiful,  or  more  impressive  than  that  which  last 
preceded,  until  at  the  very  loftiest  thought,  the  strong- 
est argument,  the  most  impressive  appeal  to  emotion, 
the  movement  ends.  When  the  greatest  thing  is  said, 
why  seek  to  add  to  it  ?  Why  try  still  to  climb,  when  the 
summit  rock  is  already  under  your  foot  ? 

The  impression  made  by  such  an  advance  is  far  more 
powerful  than  if  the  chief  thing  had  been  said  first, 
because  the  mind  has  been  both  prepared  and  stimulated, 
— the  thought  every  moment  rising  and  expanding, — 
"going  from  strength  to  strength."  Then,  at  the  end, 
the  greatest  thought  is  left  as  the  last  impression,  to 
have,  without  check,  hindrance,  or  confusion,  its  abiding 
effect  upon  the  mind. 

Every  composition,  every  oration,  every  poem,  should 
be  climactic.  The  closing  utterance  may  not  be  in  every 
case  the  most  splendid,  but  it  should  be  that  to  which 
the  movement  of  the  whole  has  led  up, — the  greatest 
thing  then  to  be  said  or  written, — the  thought  worth 
leaving  as  the  last  in  memory.  Any  series  of  para- 
graphs should  be  climactic.  A  single  sentence  or  para- 
graph may  also  be  climactic  with  powerful  effect;  but 
it  is  not  desirable  that  every  sentence  or  every  paragraph 
be  so  constructed.  Such  writing  would  have  an  artificial 
and  unnatural  effect,  for  the  excellent  reason  that  it 
would  be  artificial  and  unnatural.  Something  must  be 
conceded  to  freedom  and  unstudied  simplicity,  and  a 


FIGURES    OF   SPEECH  395 

sentence  or  paragraph,  like  a  stream  in  a  landscape, 
may  fulfil  the  poetic  figure  that,  "wandering  at  its  own 
will, "  it  "  yet  doth  ever  flow  aright. ' ' 

The  finest  examples  of  climax  in  our  language  have 
been  many  times  quoted.  Among  them  all,  Burke 's 
cumulative  recital  of  the  charges  against  Hastings  still 
stands  unsurpassed,  if  not  unequaled.  Perhaps  we  may 
best  pass  that  as  too  familiar.  Let  us  turn  back  in  the 
same  mighty  address  to  the  prelude  of  those  impeach- 
ment charges,  the  rush  of  the  rising  wind  before  the 
crash  of  the  storm : 

"My  Lords,  what  is  it  we  want  here  to  a  great  act  of  na- 
tional justice?  Do  you  want  a  cause,  my  Lords?  You  have 
the  cause  of  oppressed  princes,  of  undone  women  of  the  first 
rank,  of  desolated  provinces,  and  of  wasted  kingdoms. 

"Do  you  want  a  criminal,  my  Lords?  When  was  there  so 
much  iniquity  ever  laid  to  the  charge  of  anyone? — No,  my 
Lords,  you  must  not  look  to  punish  any  other  such  delinquent 
from  India.  Warren  Hastings  has  not  left  substance  enough 
in  India  to  nourish  such  another  delinquent." 

Figures  of  speech  impart  to  style  variety  and  anima- 
tion. A  simile,  if  explanatory,  relieves  the  mind  from 
direct,  continuous  listening  or  studying,  and  throws  a 
side-light  upon  the  thought ;  if  it  is  a  mere  ornament  of 
style,  yet,  if  fitly  devised,  it  is  animating,  as  the  mind 
says,  "Why,  this  is  not  only  true,  but  beautiful";  if  it 
is  but  a  light  touch  of  fancy,  it  still  gives  the  mind  a 
moment 's  play,  from  which  it  turns  refreshed  to  serious 
work.  At  another  time  a  question  relieves  the  strain 
of  continuous  statement  or  argument,  and  calls  the  mind 
to  be  not  merely  receptive,  but  definitely  active,  think- 
ing out  toward  a  result  for  itself.  So  a  touch  of  irony 
may  be  more  telling  than  labored  censure,  because  the 
mind  then  reacts  from  listening  or  reading  to  spontane- 
ous activity,  as  it  reconstructs  the  ironical  saying,  and 


396  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

itself  postulates  the  real  underlying  thought.  The  aver- 
age mind  becomes  wearied  and  impatient  in  following 
for  a  long  time  any  one  continuous  track  of  thought, 
and  finds  in  figures  of  speech  welcome  diversion  and 
relief,  while  these,  if  well  managed,  do  not  detract  from, 
but  heighten,  the  final  impression. 

But,  above  all  else,  figures  of  speech  are  of  value  as 
appealing  to  the  imagination.  Hence,  they  are  essential 
to  the  elevated  style.  It  is  true  that  much  power  may, 
upon  occasion,  be  exerted  by  the  severely  literal  presen- 
tation of  fact.  An  example  of  this  often  referred  to  is 
found  in  the  chapters  of  the  Gospels  which  narrate  the 
closing  scenes  in  the  life  of  Christ.  They  move  the  soul 
to  its  depths,  because  so  severely  restricted  to  the  recital 
of  incidents  which  seem  as  if  even  now  passing  in  the 
reader's  very  presence.  Dr.  Hugh  Blair  in  his  "Lec- 
tures on  Rhetoric"  remarks  that  "The  strong  pathetic 
and  the  pure  sublime  not  only  have  little  dependence 
upon  these  ornaments  of  style,  but  generally  reject 
them."  He  instances  as  an  example  the  words  in  Gen- 
esis, ' '  And  God  said,  Let  there  be  light :  and  there  was 
light. ' '  In  such  case  the  imagination  is  called  into  action 
without  direct  appeal,  and  plays  around  or  behind  the 
severely  simple  phrase.  We  feel  the  brooding,  unbroken 
"darkness  upon  the  face  of  the  deep,"  and  swiftly  pic- 
ture what  it  must  have  been  when  first  in  the  march  of 
creation  "there  was  light."  But  the  ordinary  imagina- 
tion is  not  sufficiently  awake  nor  sufficiently  vigorous  to 
rise  of  itself  to  the  impassioned  thoughts  of  mighty  souls. 
It  must  be  caught  and  borne  up  on  the  wings  of  the 
imagery  by  which  they  struggle  to  put  into  human 
speech  thoughts  which  still  transcend  all  words.  Only 
so  could  the  passionate  intensity  of  psalmist  and  prophet 
have  found  expression,  as  in  the  rapt  visions  of  Isaiah. 


FIGURES    OF    SPEECH  397 

So  every  orator  who  has  greatly  moved  the  souls  of  men 
has  depended  upon  leading  them  through  and  beyond 
the  concrete  and  the  material  to  loftier  thought  and 
intenser  feeling  than  could  be  spoken  in  literal  words. 

There  is  the  simile  which  pictures,  "Oh,  that  I  had 
wings  like  a  dove  [for  free,  strong,  long-sustained 
flight]  ;  then  would  I  fly  away  and  be  at  rest."  There 
is  the  metaphor,  which,  as  it  were,  concentrates  thought 
and  feeling  around  a  mental  image  so  vivid  as  to  need 
no  comparative  word ;  perhaps  bringing  visions  of  peace 
and  quietness,  "The  Lord  is  my  shepherd — ;  He  lead- 
eth  me  in  green  pastures  and  beside  the  still  waters";  or 
visions  of  struggle,  defense,  and  power,  "The  Lord  is 
my  rock,  my  fortress,  my  shield,  and  my  trust."  An 
apostrophe  to  a  departed  hero  seems  to  bring  him  out  of 
the  past,  back  from  beyond  the  veil,  till  all  that  he  was 
becomes  more  real  to  us,  as  we  feel  ourselves  standing  in 
his  very  presence.  An  apostrophe  to  a  city,  a  nation,  a 
state,  embodies  its  thousands  as  one,  and  crowds  cen- 
turies into  the  present  moment,  as  when  Byron  exclaims : 

"O  Rome !  my  country !  city  of  the  soul ! 
The  orphans  of  the  heart  must  turn  to  thee, 
Lone  mother  of  dead  empires!" 

Then,  with  swift  change  to  metaphor,  how  thrilling ! 

"The  Niobe  of  nations !  there  she  stands, 
Childless  and  crownless  in  her  voiceless  woe; 
An  empty  urn  within  her  witherM  hands, 
Whose  holy  dust  was  scattered  long  ago." 

All  the  pages  of  Gibbon's  detailed  history  do  not  so 
picture  the  fall  of  Rome,  nor  so  touch  the  heart  as  these 
few  lines  of  poetic  imagery.  Hence,  the  writer  of  prose, 
and  above  all,  the  orator,  needs  to  read  much  of  poetry 
for  the  arousal  and  development  of  imaginative  power. 


398  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

Beyond  the  world  of  the  seen  and  temporal  is  the  greater 
world — the  universe — of  the  unseen  and  eternal.  Chil- 
dren, with  their  limited  powers  and  reach,  find  their 
joy  and  freedom  largely  in  the  land  of  "make-believe." 
In  all  the  advance  of  life  never  do  we  reach  the  limit 
where  ideas  greater  and  nobler  than  the  literal,  the 
technical,  the  material,  and  the  prosaic,  are  not  waiting 
for  us,  if  we  have  but  eyes  to  see,  ears  to  hear,  and  hearts 
to  feel.  Imagination  enables  us  to  "mount  up  on  wings 
as  eagles,"  till  in  the  vastness  voices  unheard  at  other 
times  call  to  the  soul  from  the  starry  spaces.  Whoever 
can  lead  us  beyond  the  concrete,  the  ordinary,  and  the 
commonplace  by  arraying  around  the  truth  images  of 
beauty  and  power,  of  tenderness,  love,  hope,  and  un- 
selfish devotion,  opens  before  us  the  door  of  a  life  wider, 
richer,  and  grander,  more  joyous  and  more  satisfying, 
than  is  ever  entered  without  imagination's  exalting  and 
beneficent  aid. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

INVENTIVE    ART    IN    SPEAKING   AND 
WRITING 

One  may  sometimes  chance  to  read  the  same  news-item 
in  two  different  papers.  In  the  one,  all  is  clear,  vivid, 
interesting,  culminating.  You  read  it  greedily,  and 
remember  it  perfectly.  In  the  other,  all  is  entangled 
and  confusing,  and  you  are  out  of  patience  before  you 
reach  the  end.  So  simple  a  matter  as  the  telling  of  news 
requires  an  art  in  the  telling.  So  in  every  subject  ever 
treated  in  speech  or  writing  there  is  an  art  in  the  treat- 
ment, on  which  its  interest  and  power  largely  depend. 
Behind  all  statement  of  truth  or  fact,  all  reasoning,  all 
expression  of  feeling,  must  be  the  shaping  power  which 
may  bring  the  thought  of  writer  or  speaker  most  effect- 
ively to  act  upon  the  mind  to  which  it  is  addressed.  This 
shaping  power  rhetoricians  have  called  invention,  from 
the  Latin  invenio,  "find."  This  may  not  be  the  happi- 
est term,  but  it  has  been  long  and  widely  used,  and  it  is 
difficult  to  substitute  for  it  any  other  equally  compre- 
hensive. 

Rhetorical  invention  is  the  finding  what  to  say,  and 
how  to  say  it  from  start  to  finish.  It  is  the  inventive  art 
by  which  the  speaker  or  writer  brings  some  thought  into 
effective  contact  with  other  minds. 

Every  library  is  full  of  books  written  with  laborious 
industry  by  authors  who  have  known  almost  everything 
except  how  to  tell  what  they  knew.  Rhetorical  inven- 
tion supplies  this  fatal  lack.  Every  public  speaker, 

399 


400  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

probably,  has  experienced  what  is  known  as  "stage 
fright, ' '  when  he  would  be  aware  of  himself  as  standing- 
before  an  audience  and  expected  to  address  them,  while 
unconscious  of  anything  that  could  ever  be  spoken  about, 
and  of  anything  that  could  ever  be  said  about  anything. 
The  universe  was  filled  by  the  expectant  audience  and 
his  own  unresponsive  and  incompetent  self,  isolated  in 
the  awful  vacuum  of  absolute  intellectual  paralysis. 
There  are  times  when  a  ream,  of  white  paper  seems  to 
have  an  equivalent  effect  upon  an  author.  Rhetorical 
invention  breaks  the  spell,  supplying,  first,  something  to 
be  spoken  or  written  about,  and,  secondly,  something  to 
be  said  or  written  about  it. 

THE  SUBJECT  OR  THEME 

That  which  is  to  be  spoken  or  written  about  is,  in  a 
general  way,  called  the  Subject;  but  there  is  an  advan- 
tage in  distinguishing  between  the  Subject  and  the 
Theme,  letting  the  subject  stand  for  the  whole  general 
idea  or  mass  of  thought  that  the  speaker  or  writer  has  to 
consider,  while  the  theme  may  be  defined  as  the  essence 
or  gist  of  that  subject,  so  far  as  it  suits  his  purpose  to 
deal  with  it.  A  subject,  whether  presented  by  others, 
by  the  demand  of  circumstances,  or  by  the  first  sugges- 
tions of  one's  own  mind,  is  seldom  so  clear-cut,  so  accu- 
rately defined  and  limited,  as  it  needs  to  be,  in  order  to 
become  the  basis  of  the  discourse.  The  speaker  or  writer 
frequently  needs  to  digest,  define,  analyze,  and  variously 
limit  the  subject  originally  presented  to  his  mind,  in 
order  to  obtain  a  theme  on  which  he  can  work  effectively 
for  an  entire  discourse.  Thus  the  Theme  might  be  termed 
the  revised  or  perfected  Subject. 

The  Theme  has  been  well  defined  as  "the  working  idea 


ART   IN   SPEAKING   AND    WRITING      401 

of  the  discourse."*  It  is  the  conception  that  underlies 
and  dominates  all  that  is  to  be  said  or  written  then  and 
there.  It  is  the  substratum  of  all,  and  at  the  same  time 
the  test  by  which  every  item  must  be  judged  as  to  its 
correspondence  and  harmony  with  that  primal  concep- 
tion. The  theme  must  so  pervade  the  speaker's  or  the 
writer's  own  mind  as  to  have  a  selective  and  controlling 
power  over  all  his  thoughts  and  materials,  so  that  what- 
ever will  not  agree  with  or  enforce  that  theme  will  be 
resolutely  rejected.  A  really  central  and  dominating 
theme  will  so  pervade  a  composition  that  anything  not 
in  harmony  with  that  theme  will  ring  false  and  hollow, 
and  hearers  or  readers  will  be  dulled,  jarred,  or  repelled 
by  the  intrusion  of  that  foreign  element,  without  know- 
ing why.  The  speaker  will  be  aware  that  he  is  suddenly 
losing  his  audience.  In  the  written  article  the  effect  is 
of  an  unexplained  break.  However  excellent,  elegant,  or 
beautiful  that  incongruous  element  may  be  by  and  for 
itself,  it  will  detract  from  the  power  of  the  composition 
as  a  whole.  The  matter  may  be  so  good  as  to  delude  the 
author.  He  cannot  see  why  it  is,  that  when  all  was 
moving  well,  suddenly  the  chariot  wheels  seem  to  be 
taken  off,  and  progress  is  checked.  Then,  perhaps,  it 
occurs  to  him,  "That  is  good,  in  itself,  but  not  in  har- 
mony with  the  present  theme.  Some  time  that  may  be- 
come part  of  an  independent  discourse  or  treatise.  Here 
and  now  it  must  be  banished. ' '  The  ideal  of  oratory  or 
authorship  is,  that  the  theme  shall  take  possession  both 
of  the  man  and  the  utterance,  so  that  for  the  time  the 
speaker  or  writer  is  the  slave  of  the  theme,  moved  on  by 
a  tide  so  strong  that  he  cannot  and  would  not  resist  it, 
only  fearing  lest  some  eddy  may  sweep  him  out  of  the 

*  Genung:     "Elements   of    Practical    Ehetoric,"   Pt.    ii,   Ch.   ii, 

p.  248. 


402  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

current,  and  force  him  to  land  on  some  unwelcome 
shore. 

The  theme  may  be  directly  stated,  in  which  case  it  is 
known  as  the  Expressed  Theme;  or  it  may  be  silently 
inwrought  into  the  composition,  to  be  evolved  by  hearers 
or  readers,  perhaps  unconsciously,  perhaps  even  in  spite 
of  themselves,  as  the  work  moves  on,  in  which  case  we 
have  what  is  known  as  the  Diffused  or  Pervading  Theme. 

The  Expressed  Theme  has  the  advantage  of  simplicity 
and  directness.  All  parties  know  whither  they  are,  or 
ought  to  be  going.  The  hearer  or  reader  can  be  sure  in 
which  direction  he  is  moving,  and  is  able,  on  occasion, 
to  retrace  his  path.  Hence  the  expressed  theme  is  com- 
monly used  in  sermons,  in  legal  pleas  or  arguments,  in 
scientific  discourses,  in  senatorial  addresses,  in  political 
appeals,  and  often — though  not  always — in  popular 
essays.  For  fair  and  orderly  debate  it  is  essential  that 
the  theme  be  a  definite  proposition,  to  the  exact  terms 
of  which  both  the  affirmative  and  negative  must  be 
strictly  held.  The  preacher  urging  some  spiritual  truth 
or  practical  duty,  the  lawyer  addressing  a  court  or  a 
jury,  a  man  of  science  explaining  some  discovery  or  some 
natural  law,  a  political  leader  arguing  for  or  against 
certain  legislation  or  governmental  action,  a  writer  de- 
fending some  view  of  truth  for  popular  reading: — in  a 
word,  any  one  dealing  directly  with  practical  matters — 
can  seldom  do  better  than  to  express  the  theme  on  which 
his  whole  work  is  based,  and  to  take  hearers  or  readers 
from  the  outset  into  definite  conjunction  with  himself  in 
his  purpose  and  endeavor.  The  expressed  theme  should 
be  brought  to  such  definiteness  and  exactness  of  state- 
ment that  hearers  or  readers  cannot  hold  the  speaker  or 
writer  responsible  for  anything  aside  from  or  beyond 
that  predicated  statement,  while,  at  the  same  time,  that 


ART   IN   SPEAKING   AND    WRITING      403 

exact  statement  holds  the  speaker  or  writer  to  a  fixed 
course,  from  which  he  will  not  allow  himself  to  depart. 
So  far  is  such  precision  of  theme  from  cramping  or 
hampering  the  speaker  or  writer  that  it  gives  him  the 
assurance  and  security  which  the  locomotive  has  when 
it  adheres  unswervingly  to  the  supporting  and  guiding 
rails.  Whatever  line  of  literary  work  he  may  ultimately 
follow,  every  young  speaker  or  writer  will  do  well  dur- 
ing the  training  period  to  give  much  attention  to  the 
formulating  and  development  of  the  expressed  theme,  so 
that  he  can  at  any  time  shape  up  his  material  according 
to  this  method,  and  that  the  power  of  such  expression 
shall  become  a  natural  and  dependable  mental  capacity. 
The  habit  of  such  mental  action  will  control  him,  even 
when  he  does  not  definitely  think  of  it,  and  all  his  work 
will  be  better  for  its  unifying  influence. 

The  Diffused  or  Pervading  Theme,  on  the  contrary,  is 
the  one  suited  for  description,  narration,  or  dramatic 
composition.  In  this  style,  the  author  not  merely  leaves 
the  theme  unexpressed,  but  carefully  avoids  its  expres- 
sion. Nothing  could  so  kill  interest  at  the  start,  as  to 
say,  "I  will  now  tell  you  a  story  to  illustrate  the  danger 
of  listening  to  flattery."  But  the  old  fable  of  the  Fox, 
who  inveigled  the  Crow  into  dropping  the  cheese  in  the 
attempt  to  sing,  has  a  perennial  interest,  and  silently 
teaches  its  lesson.  If  the  theme  is  appended  at  the  close, 
— "This  fable  teaches", — the  expression  is  always  jar- 
ring. Even  children  shun  this  style.  A  little  girl  at  a 
summer  resort  was  the  pet  of  a  number  of  gentlemen, 
who  told  her  their  best  stories ;  but  among  them  all  she 
was  most  attracted  to  one  eminent  clergyman,  and  on 
being  asked  the  reason,  calmly  replied,  "Because  he  has 
no  morals. ' '  The  others  had  appended  ' '  morals ' '  to  their 
stories,  so  that  she  might  be  sure  to  get  the  lesson.  But 


404  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

the  great  man  knew  how  to  tell  a  story  so  that  its  moral 
was  interwoven,  and  had  no  need  to  be  tacked  on  the 
outside.  When  the  novelist  or  the  dramatist  has  to  tell 
in  express  terms  what  his  novel  or  play  is  to  teach,  he 
has  missed  the  true  power  of  his  art.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  Diffused  Theme  can  rarely  have  place  in  ora- 
tory. The  speech  which  Shakespeare  puts  into  the 
mouth  of  Mark  Antony  at  Caesar's  funeral  is  masterly 
as  a  dramatic  conception,  but  any  orator  who  should 
make  such  an  attempt  in  real  life  would  be  greatly 
in  danger  of  influencing  his  audience  against  his 
purpose. 

But  whether  expressed  or  not,  the  theme  must  be 
clearly  manifest  to  the  speaker  or  writer  himself,  and 
dominate  his  whole  thought.  In  a  story  the  theme  may 
be  what  has  been  called  ' '  the  narrative  conception, ' '  the 
author's  vision  of  the  story  as  a  whole,  which  controls 
all  grouping  of  particulars.  In  a  poem  the  theme  may 
be  some  conception  of  beauty,  grandeur,  or  power,  or 
even  of  terror,  such  as  an  artist  might  paint  upon  canvas 
or  carve  in  marble  by  and  for  itself,  with  no  ulterior 
purpose.  In  a  description  the  speaker  or  writer,  if  he 
would  be  clear  and  impressive,  must  have  some  well- 
defined  impression  which  the  scene  has  produced  upon 
his  own  mind.  Nature  is  what  we  see  in  it,  and  that 
impression  his  description  can  unfold  to  his  audience. 
That  primal  conception  will  guide  him  in  the  choice  of 
the  particulars  he  selects.  The  reader  may  only  collect 
the  theme  as  the  result  of  his  reading.  With  the  writer 
the  theme  controls  the  production,  and  the  theme  most 
clearly  and  definitely  expressed  by  speaker  or  writer  is 
commonly  the  result  of  thorough  study  and  analysis  of 
his  subject  in  his  own  mind.  When  once  evolved,  it  sets 
for  him  a  standard  to  which  all  his  work  must  conform. 


ART    IN   SPEAKING   AND    WRITING      405 

Among  many  characteristics  which  should  mark  the 
theme,  three  may  be  especially  noted. 

1.  The  theme  should  have  Distinction,  that  is  distinct- 
iveness,  to  set  off  some  part  of  the  great  realm  of  knowl- 
edge and  of  thought  for  especial  treatment  on  the  exist- 
ing occasion.  Thus  Ruskin,  in  "Two  Paths,"  says  of 
"human  invention," 

"Out  of  the  infinite  heap  of  things  around  us  in  the  world, 
it  chooses  a  certain  number  which  it  can  thoroughly  grasp, 
and  presents  this  group  to  the  spectator  in  the  form  best 
calculated  to  enable  him  to  grasp  it  also,  and  to  grasp  it  with 
delight." 

To  the  traveler  visiting  Rome,  the  Campagna,  that 
undulating  plain  stretching  from  the  city  to  the  Alban 
Hills  miles  away  on  the  one  side  and  to  the  horizon  line 
in  other  directions,  brings  no  special  sense  of  vastness. 
It  is  a  wide  plain,  and  that  is  all.  But  when  an  insig- 
nificant portion  of  that  space,  six  hundred  feet  in  length 
by  four  hundred  and  fifty  in  breadth,  is  set  off  and 
walled  in  with  stone,  the  eye  and  the  mind  are  deeply 
impressed  by  the  measurable  and  comprehensible  immen- 
sity of  Saint  Peter's  church.  A  limited  vastness  has 
become  appreciable  to  the  sense. 

The  young  writer  always  has  the  feeling  that  the 
broader  his  subject  the  more  he  will  have  to  say;  and 
generation  after  generation  of  students  are  surprised 
to  learn  that  the  very  reverse  is  the  fact.  Thus,  if  one 
were  to  take  "Education"  for  his  theme,  he  would  feel 
as  if  in  a  wilderness,  not  knowing  where  to  set  his  foot 
nor  which  way  to  turn.  But  if  he  will  treat  "Educa- 
tion in  the  Home,"  or  "The  Kindergarten";  or  if  he 
will  discuss  ' '  Primary, "  "  Secondary, "  "  Collegiate, ' '  or 
"Technical"  Education,  he  will  be  surprized  at  the  ful- 
ness and  fruitfulness  of  any  one  of  these  restricted 


406  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

topics.  The  theme  must  be  the  subject  reduced  to  a  dis- 
tinct and  manageable  entity.  Often  the  first  important 
step  that  a  speaker  or  writer  can  take,  when  a  subject  is 
assigned  to  him,  is  to  limit  that  subject  to  a  statement 
or  topic  which  he  can  handle  effectively.  In  literary 
work  of  every  kind  we  constantly  find  fulfilled  the  para- 
dox that  "A  part  is  greater  than  the  whole." 

2.  The  theme  must  have  Relation.  It  must  somehow 
touch  matter  of  interest  to  those  addressed.  The  most 
thorough  and  learned  lecture  on  "The  Hebrew  Vowel- 
Points"  would  be  intolerable  as  a  lecture  and  unread- 
able as  a  book  for  the  majority  of  people,  because  they 
do  not  care  in  the  slightest  degree  about  the  matter,  and 
it  is  difficult  to  see  how  it  could  be  made  to  connect  with 
ordinary  human  interests  to-day.  But  let  us  suppose 
that  one  were  assigned  as  a  subject,  * '  The  Ancient  Assyr- 
ian Empire."  It  is  possible  to  bring  that  subject  into 
touch  with  present  human  interests.  For  instance,  there 
are  great  numbers  of  people  who  are  interested  in  Bible 
history.  The  Assyrian  history  might  be  taken  up  at  the 
point  where  it  first  touches  that  of  the  Hebrews.  Then 
it  would  be  easy  to  run  back  and  note  what  the  great 
empire  had  been  doing  in  its  earlier  period,  showing 
how  it  had  come  to  be  what  it  was  in  Biblical  times. 
The  rude  idolatry  of  Assyria,  as  opposed  to  the  pure 
monotheism  of  the  Hebrews,  is  another  obvious  element 
of  contrast,  and  so  of  interest.  The  real  theme  would 
then  be  "The  Ancient  Heathen  Empire  of  Assyria  as 
Contrasted  with  the  Hebrew  Theocratic  Commonwealth. ' ' 
That  would  be  the  basis  of  thought  on  which  the  speaker 
or  writer  would  be  working,  and  which  he  would  bring 
all  his  materials  to  illustrate  and  enforce.  Of  course, 
that  theme  would  never  do  for  a  title.  He  must  seek  a 
title  having  some  element  of  attractiveness,  and  prob- 


ART    IN   SPEAKING   AND    WRITING      407 

ably  expressing  but  a  small  part  of  his  controlling 
thought;  as,  for  instance,  "The  Assyrian  Oppressor  of 
Israel."  Or,  again,  he  might  find  another  element  of 
Relation  to  present  human  interests  by  contrasting  Des- 
potism at  its  Maximum  with  the  democratic  systems  fast 
taking  control  of  the  world  to-day.  Somehow  he  must 
bring  his  theme  into  touch  with  things  that  men  think 
of  and  care  for  in  the  living  world. 

3.  The  theme  must  have  Unity.  If  it  has  not,  the  dis- 
course will  be  what  people  call  "rambling";  and  few 
readers  or  hearers  are  willing  to  wander  aimlessly  and 
far  afield,  even  in  company  with  some  one  of  high  intel- 
lectual ability. 

The  test  of  unity  is,  whether  the  whole  gist  of  the 
subject  can  be  reduced  to  one  compact  phrase  or  propo- 
sition. Until  the  writer  can  so  reduce  it  for  himself,  he 
is  not  in  a  position  to  go  to  work  upon  it  for  others. 
He  must,  so  to  speak,  walk  round  and  round  his  subject, 
view  it  from  every  side  and  in  every  light,  till  from  it 
he  has  evolved  one  controlling  thought,  around  which 
everything  in  the  whole  treatment  shall  center,  and  to 
which  in  the  conclusion  all  shall  at  last  return.  Such  is 
the  comprehensive  result  which  must  be  the  ideal  of 
every  author  and  of  every  orator,  as  of  every  artist. 

Thus  the  architect  masses  the  brick  and  stone  and  glass 
around  one  viewless  thought,  till  the  dead  matter  be- 
comes alive  with  the  conception  of  a  living  soul.  He 
builds  a  great  library  with  such  an  aspect  of  compact 
inclusiveness  that  from  afar  the  beholder  feels  that  some 
choice  treasure  is  massed  under  its  gilded  dome.  You 
pass  the  silent-closing  door  into  the  white  marble  vast- 
ness,  with  the  upward-reaching  stairway  on  either  hand, 
graceful  chiseled  forms  clinging  around  the  balustrades 
or  holding  aloft  the  delicately  molded  lamps,  while  his- 


408  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

toric  pictures  look  down  from  panels  far  above,  and 
arched  aisles  and  alcoves  open  before  your  vision  with 
perspective  of  invitation  and  promise.  A  nameless 
something  in  every  stone  and  every  line  says,  "This  is 
a  place  for  study  and  thought."  So  compelling  is  the 
effect  that  there  is  scarce  need  of  the  gilded  motto 
"SILENCE,"  that  meets  you  as  you  open  the  door  into 
the  stately  and  well-appointed  reading-room.  The  domi- 
nant impression  of  the  great,  beautiful  building  is  one: 
Meditation,  study,  thought. 

Similarly  a  landscape  artist  will  lay  out  a  vast  park, 
so  that  every  winding  road,  every  overarching  tree, 
every  clump  of  shrubbery,  every  gleaming  stream  or 
lake,  makes  harmonious  appeal  to  the  sense  of  the  beau- 
tiful in  nature. 

There  is  an  equestrian  statue  at  the  junction  of  Four- 
teenth Street  and  Vermont  Avenue  in  Washington  that 
is  a  study  in  unity.  From  whichever  side  you  view  it, 
the  impression  is  one.  The  horse  is  a  beautiful  animal, 
a  model  of  grace,  swiftness  and  power.  He  stands  light 
on  his  feet  as  a  bird  about  to  fly.  Yet  he  is  steadfast, 
waiting  on  the  higher  intelligence  of  his  commander. 
The  man  is  firm,  erect  in  the  saddle,  his  whole  figure 
braced  with  the  strain  of  intense  feeling. 

Yet  there  is  no  flurry  of  excitement.  The  horse  is  not 
prancing.  The  rider  is  not  thinking  of  horsemanship. 
As  you  approach  from  the  side  or  the  rear,  you  see  that 
both  man  and  horse  are  intent  on  something  far  before 
them.  The  horse,  whose  fine  head  with  dilated  nostrils 
and  forward  listening  ears  you  catch  beyond  the  rider's 
shoulder,  is  watching  what  his  equine  intellect  enables 
him  to  apprehend  of  the  scene  in  the  distance.  The 
rider,  too,  is  looking  and  listening  afar.  Both  are  watch- 
ful, eager,  expectant,  yet  steadfast.  As  you  advance 


ART   IN   SPEAKING   AND    WRITING      409 

toward  the  front,  the  impression  deepens,  till  you  come 
full  before  the  figure,  when  all  else  is  lost  in  the  face 
of  the  man.  There  it  all  is, — the  forward  vision,  keen, 
eager,  vivid,  that  will  miss  not  a  movement  on  all  the 
field,  the  repressed  energy,  ready  to  speak  or  act  on  the 
first  instant  of  need, — yet,  withal,  grand,  masterful,  calm, 
strong  to  endure  and  to  wait ;  to  fail,  if  it  must  be,  while 
doing  all  that  man  can  do ;  or,  if  it  may  be,  through  all 
and  in  spite  of  all,  to  conquer. 

The  whole  story  is  told  in  bronze,  and  you  feel  as  you 
gaze  that  through  all  that  hazardous,  doubtful,  glorious 
day,  amid  imminent  peril  of  defeat  and  disaster,  unter- 
rified,  unshaken,  with  intent  alertness  for  action,  but 
having  under  all  the  still,  firm  energy  of  silent  endur- 
ance, so  abode  Thomas,  ' '  the  Rock  of  Chickamauga. ' ' 

Such  unity  of  conception  underlies  all  that  is  best  in 
literature.  Thus  the  "Iliad"  opens  with  "the  wrath 
of  Achilles, ' '  the  doughty  warrior,  the  best  soldier  in  the 
whole  Greek  army,  angered  by  the  selfish  despotism  of 
King  Agamemnon.  Achilles'  wrath  vents  itself  in  sim- 
ply retiring  from  battle,  and  leaving  the  Greeks  to  do 
the  best  they  can  without  him.  The  story  goes  on  with 
accounts  of  vain  enterprises  and  disastrous  battles,  till 
at  last  Achilles,  maddened  by  the  death  of  his  dearest 
friend,  forgets  his  personal  resentment,  rushes  into  bat- 
tle, slays  Hector,  the  foremost  champion  of  resisting 
Troy,  and  once  again  takes  his  place  as  the  leader  of 
Grecian  warriors.  The  poet  does  not  pursue  the  story 
to  the  capture  of  Troy.  He  has  told  enough:  Achilles, 
the  irresistible,  is  again  in  the  forefront  of  battle;  the 
mightiest  defender  of  Troy  is  dead;  the  imagination  of 
every  reader  can  foresee  the  proud  city's  fall;  and  like 
a  master  artist,  the  poet  leaves  imagination  to  complete 
the  picture. 


410  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

Gibbon's  vast  history  of  the  "Decline  and  Fall  of  the 
Roman  Empire ' ',  extending  over  fourteen  centuries,  from 
the  reign  of  Trajan  to  the  capture  of  Constantinople 
by  the  Turks,  has  one  continuous  movement  from  the 
splendor  of  Rome  in  the  pride  of  her  power  to  the  crush- 
ing of  the  last  remnant  of  that  power  under  the  assault 
of  the  ruthless  Saracen.  Every  barbarian  tribe  that 
assails  the  imperial  frontiers  is  pictured  in  its  far-off 
home,  traced  through  its  devastating  march,  and  its  full 
story  told  in  victory  or  defeat.  All  the  oppression  and 
corruption  within  the  Empire,  that  sapped  the  power 
of  her  once  resistless  legions,  is  patiently  analyzed.  Yet 
always  the  story  returns  upon  the  "  Decline ",  and  ter- 
minates at  last  with  the  "Fall".  The  last  sentence  of 
the  six  matchless  volumes  answers  to  the  first.  Every 
episode  and  every  incident  is  held  in  subjection  to  the 
one  controlling  thought. 

Turn,  again,  to  a  narrative  poem,  like  Scott's  "Mar- 
mion."  It  opens  with  the  hero  in  the  full  splendor  of 
power  and  fame,  received  at  a  sumptuous  banquet  in  a 
baronial  castle,  as  he  goes  on  a  mission  from  the  king. 
In  the  midst  of  the  entertainment  one  of  his  retainers 
sings  a  song  containing  the  stanza: 

"Where  shall  the  traitor  rest,  he,  the  deceiver, 
Who  could  win  maiden's  breast,  ruin  and  leave  her? 
In  the  lost  battle,  borne  down  by  the  flying, 
Where  mingles  war's  rattle  with  groans  of  the  dying." 

Marmion  's  heart  sinks  within  him  with  a  sudden  thrill 
of  remorse,  for  the  song  brings  to  memory  one  whom 
he  has  betrayed.  The  poem  sweeps  on  through  many  a 
scene  of  excitement  and  splendor,  honors  gathering  thick 
about  the  warrior  chief; — till  we  reach  the  melancholy 
close: 


ART    IN   SPEAKING   AND    WRITING      411 

"With  that,  straight  up  the  hill  there  rode 
Two  horsemen  drenched  with  gore, 
And  in  their  arms,  a  helpless  load, 
A  wounded  knight  they  bore. 
.  .  .  The  falcon  crest  and  plumage  gone, 
Can  that  be  haughty  Marmion?" 

Then  in  his  half  delirious  faintness  the  stricken  war- 
rior murmurs : 

'In  the  lost  battle  borne  down  by  the  flying, 
Where  mingles  war's  rattle  with  groans  of  the  dying." 

It  is  true  that  Scott,  with  his  hearty  optimism,  must 
fling  a  light  upon  the  cloud.  The  tide  of  war  turns,  and 
England  wins,  but  in  the  very  moment  of  victory,  on  the 
battle  verge,  Marmion  dies  alone. 

The  same  law  governs  the  novel.  Thus  in  Dickens' 
"David  Copperfield",  the  interest  centers  around  two 
characters,  the  neglected  orphan  boy,  David,  who  fights 
his  way  up  to  success  and  eminence,  and  Steerforth,  the 
spoiled  darling  of  wealth,  who  closes  a  life  of  harmful 
self-indulgence  by  a  tragic  death.  "Dombey  &  Son" 
depicts  mercantile  selfishness.  The  conception  of  life 
held  by  the  prosperous  Mr.  Dombey  is  thus  outlined : 

"The  earth  was  made  for  Dombey  &  Son  to  trade  in,  and 
the  sun  and  moon  were  made  to  give  them  light.  Rivers 
and  seas  were  formed  to  float  their  ships;  rainbows  gave 
them  promise  of  fair  weather;  winds  blew  for  or  against 
their  enterprises;  stars  and  planets  circled  in  their  orbits  to 
preserve  inviolate  a  system  of  which  they  were  the  center." 

The  tale,  goes  on  through  a  proud  and  stern  career  of 
conflict  and  sorrow,  till,  at  the  end,  the  broken  old  mer- 
chant is  rescued  from  the  last  disaster  by  the  power  of  a 
sentiment  which  he  had  always  despised — a  daughter's 
tender,  self-devoted  lore. 


412  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

Each  of  Irving 's  short  stories  is  complete  from  start 
to  finish.  Rip  Van  Winkle,  the  good-natured  idler,  who 
would  work  at  any  business  but  his  own,  and  help  any 
person  who  had  no  claim  upon  him,  and  who  joined  with 
his  easy-going  idleness  the  love  of  liquor  that  commonly 
accompanies  it,  helps  the  stranger  carry  a  keg  up  the 
mountain,  readily  consents  to  act  as  waiter  for  the  mys- 
terious company  whom  he  finds  at  their  games,  tastes  the 
liquor  which  he  is  passing  around,  finds  it  good,  and 
drinks  till  he  falls  into  a  drunken  sleep,  from  which  he 
wakes  after  twenty  years  to  find  how  far  the  civilization, 
which  he  had  never  helped,  has  gone  on  without  him. 
Ichabod  Crane,  the  schoolmaster  of  Sleepy  Hollow,  had 
prepared  himself  by  a  long  course  of  superstitious  train- 
ing to  be  the  victim  of  the  Headless  Horseman,  who 
chases  him  out  of  his  beloved  retreat  with  clouds  of 
dust,  thunder  of  hoofs,  and  ignominious  fall. 

We  might  multiply  instances  without  number  to  show 
how  the  shaping  of  poem,  oration,  story,  or  essay  around 
one  dominant  thought  is  the  essential  element  of  its 
charm  and  power.  Sometimes  a  subject  made  up  of  ill- 
assorted  or  even  discordant  elements  must  be  forced  to 
yield  a  theme. 

Since  all  items  cannot  be  treated  at  once,  there  must 
be  some  selection  and  order  of  treatment.  That  is  the 
Plan  of  the  discourse.  Occasionally  we  meet  a  person  in 
whose  mind  all  opinions  and  all  remembered  facts  are 
mingled  in  a  formless  and  orderless  chaos.  A  lawyer 
may  have  a  perfectly  well-intentioned  and  willing  wit- 
ness, but  utterly  incapable  of  orderly  thinking.  Items 
are  poured  forth  without  the  slightest  reference  to  their 
importance  or  connection.  Questions,  unless  very  adroit 
and  patient,  are  found  only  to  confuse.  At  length,  amid 
a  flood  of  insignificant  particulars,  the  one  vital  item 


ART   IN   SPEAKING   AND    WRITING      413 

of  the  testimony  is  accidentally  dropped  out.  Many 
children  exhibit  this  mental  condition,  and  parents  and 
experienced  teachers  learn  to  "let  them  tell  their  story 
in  their  own  way,"  and  then  themselves  shape  all  into 
order  and  connection.  But  no  person  of  such  mentality 
can  lead  or  interest  others  by  speech  or  writing,  even 
to  the  extent  of  reporting  news-items  for  a  daily  paper. 
One  of  the  very  first  requisites  for  the  speaker  or  writer 
is  to  master  the  process  and  the  habit  of  orderly  think- 
ing. For  whatever  is  to  be  said  or  written,  there  must 
be  a  rational  plan. 

THE  PLAN 

The  plan  distributes  what  the  theme  concentrates. 

While  the  author  must  have  bent  his  best  energies 
toward  grasping  the  whole  subject  at  once,  in  order  to 
get  his  theme,  he  can  not  expect  his  hearers  or  readers 
to  start  where  he  then  left  off.  He  must  present  the 
thought  in  varied  detail,  that  they  may  apprehend  it 
item  by  item.  A  great  river  may  flow  through  arid 
plains,  bearing  a  flood  of  wafers  uselessly  to  the  sea; 
but  by  draining  off  the  waters  into  orderly  intersecting 
channels  across  the  land,  the  well-distributed  streams 
will  transform  desert  sands  into  fruitful  fields. 

The  human  mind  can  not  comprehend  all  truth  at 
once,  and  often  loses  the  substance  of  thought  in  the 
vagueness  of  a  severely  condensed  statement.  There  is  a 
mythical  anecdote  of  a  Persian  emperor  who  ordered  his 
vizier  to  examine  the  great  imperial  library  and  report 
to  him  what  in  it  was  superfluous.  After  prolonged 
study,  the  vizier  reported  that  all  the  truth  contained  in 
the  library  might  be  summed  up  in  the  one  word  "God." 
Whereupon  the  emperor  ordered  a  golden  plate  inscribed 
with  the  divine  name  to  be  placed  in  the  central  hall 


414  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

of  the  library,  and  all  the  books  to  be  burned.  But  by 
that  act  he  destroyed  all  the  steps  of  progressive  ascent 
by  which  the  mind  could  reach  the  central  idea.  He 
burned  down  all  the  stairways  by  which  thought  might 
climb  to  the  Great  Supreme.  How  different  the  method 
of  the  Hebrew  psalmist  and  prophet : 

"When  I  consider  thy  heavens,  the  work  of  thy  fingers,  the 
moon  and  the  stars,  which  thou  hast  ordained, 

What  is  man,  that  thou  art  mindful  of  him?  and  the  son 
of  man  that  thou  visitest  him? 

For  thou  hast  made  him  a  little  lower  than  the  angels,  and 
hast  crowned  him  with  glory  and  honor.  .  .  . 

O  Lord,  our  Lord,  how  excellent  is  thy  name  in  all  the 
earth!"— Ps.  viii. 

"Who  hath  measured  the  waters  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand, 
and  meted  out  heaven  with  the  span,  and  comprehended  the 
dust  of  the  earth  in  a  measure,  and  weighed  the  mountains 
in  scales,  and  the  hills  in  a  balance? 

Behold,  the  nations  are  as  a  drop  of  a  bucket,  and  are 
counted  as  the  small  dust  of  the  balance:  behold,  he  taketh 
up  the  isles  as  a  very  little  thing. 

Hast  thou  not  known?  hast  thou  not  heard  that  the  ever- 
lasting God,  the  Lord,  the  Creator  of  the  ends  of  the  earth, 
fainteth  not,  neither  is  weary?" — 7s.  xl. 

How  the  thought  is  led  up  from  the  things  visible  and 
familiar  to  some  possible  conception  of  the  majesty  of 
Deity!  The  distributing  plan  must  be  wrought  out  by 
careful  thought  and  every  thought  well  adjusted  to  every 
other.  The  fault  of  many  a  brilliant  writer  is  impa- 
tience of  the  machinery  of  an  orderly  plan.  It  is  grand 
to  have  the  dream  of  a  soaring  bridge,  linking  height  to 
height,  looking  light  as  gossamer,  yet  proving  firm  as  the 
everlasting  hills,  but  all  this  depends  upon  the  mathe- 
matical measurement  of  truss  and  girder  and  the  perfect 
setting  of  the  rivets  in  every  joint.  Many  an  ambitious 


ART    IN   SPEAKING   AND    WRITING      415 

•tructure  has  fallen  in  wreck  for  want  of  such  common- 
place accuracy.  How  shall  this  be  attained? 

The  development  of  the  theme,  already  described,  is 
sure  to  give  some  elements  of  the  plan,  such  as  support- 
ing reasons,  objections  to  be  met,  questions  to  be  an- 
swered, elements  of  likeness  to  or  contrast  with  other 
subjects,  etc.  It  then  devolves  upon  the  speaker  or 
writer  to  marshal  these  in  intelligent  order,  and  to  fill 
up  what  is  lacking  in  this  general  scheme. 

It  is  by  no  means  necessary,  and  it  is  often  highly 
undesirable,  that  he  should  present  the  various  consid- 
erations to  hearers  or  readers  in  the  very  order  in  which 
they  occurred  to  him.  Those  he  addresses  need  not  be 
led  along  every  blind  path  he  has  followed  in  vain 
pursuit,  and  into  every  morass  he  has  waded  through. 
The  good  guide  is  the  one  who  can  keep  us  out  of  those 
very  things.  The  advantage  of  his  going  first  is  to  make 
sure  a  plain  path  for  those  who  follow  him.  There  is 
nothing  of  so  little  interest  to  the  world  in  general  as 
one's  own  past  mental  processes.  We  all  know  the  indi- 
vidual who  can  not  give  his  opinion  on  any  subject  with- 
out recounting  what  he  told  his  wife  or  his  neighbor  or 
his  enemy  last  week  or  last  year.  What  he  once  said 
seems  to  have  a  historic  value  for  him  and  to  be  worthy 
of  indefinite  repetition.  But  the  effective  speaker  or 
writer  must  hold  his  own  personality  negligible,  and 
think  from  the  side  of  those  he  addresses.  The  question 
is  not,  How  did  I  attain  this  truth  ?  but,  How  can  I  best 
lead  others  to  it?  The  answer  to  that  last  question  de- 
termines his  plan. 

There  are  minds  so  intensely  logical,  that  on  the  first 
presentation  of  a  subject  all  items  in  the  development 
of  the  thought  present  themselves  in  orderly  array,  and 
such  a  thinker  can  at  once  lay  off  a  connected  scheme 


416  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

of  treatment.  Persons  so  constituted  often  become  teach- 
ers, and  assume  that  such  logical  division  of  a  subject 
is  easy  and  natural  for  every  one.  But  to  the  ordinary 
mind  the  various  points  of  a  subject  are  likely  to  present 
themselves  in  no  systematic  order,  and  the  bringing  of 
them  to  the  most  suitable  arrangement  is  a  matter  of 
much  study  and  experiment. 

The  plan  should  have 

1.  Unity. — The  unity  of  the  theme  must  pervade  the 
plan.  All  that  has  been  said  of  unity  in  the  theme  may 
be  applied  with  even  increased  emphasis  to  the  plan. 
For,  while  a  well-contrived  plan  may  cover  the  defects 
of  an  ill-chosen  theme,  on  the  other  hand  a  heteroge- 
neous, scattering  and  confusing  plan  will  seem  to  break 
the  unity  of  the  most  perfect  theme.  Anything  in  the 
plan  discordant  with  the  theme  is,  of  course,  a  fault. 
Any  conflict  or  contradiction  between  different  elements 
of  the  plan  is  a  manifest  fault.  But  it  is  not  so  gener- 
ally recognized  that  mere  distraction  is  a  fault,  with- 
out any  reference  to  the  inherent  merit  of  that  which 
distracts.  In  fact,  the  more  thrilling  or  beautiful  the 
distraction  is,  the  worse  fault  it  is.  The  tendency  to  dis- 
traction is  everywhere,  and  the  speaker  or  writer  who 
heedlessly  introduces  a  distracting  thought  or  image 
into  his  plan  is  himself  helping  this  tendency,  and  actu- 
ally inviting  his  readers  or  hearers  to  divert  their  inter- 
est from  his  chosen  theme, — which  should  be  the  con- 
trolling theme.  He  must  have  the  moral  courage  severely 
to  cut  down  or  cut  out  what  is  good  and  beautiful,  if 
it  leads  away  from  the  main  theme  and  plan.  That  is 
his  sacrifice  to  unity. 

A  plan  of  which  every  part  agrees  with  and  supports 
every  other  has  a  sustained  and  satisfying  onward  move- 
ment like  that  of  the  express  train  in  which  every  stroke 


ART   IN   SPEAKING   AND   WRITING      417 

of  the  piston  meets  harmonious  response  from  every  part 
of  the  mechanism,  and  even  the  dead  weight  of  the  mov- 
ing mass  helps  to  give  it  stability  on  the  track  and 
assured  direction  of  progress. 

2.  Exclusion. — By  this  is  meant  that  under  each  divi- 
sion of  the  plan  shall  be  treated  only  what  applies  to 
that  division,  so  that  every  division  shall  be  complete  by 
and  for  itself  and  " exclude"  every  item  of  every  other 
division.    If  one  part  of  an  idea  is  treated  under  one 
division  of  the  plan,  and  another  part  of  that  same  idea 
under  another  division,  there  is  the  dulling  effect  of  ap- 
parent repetition;  but,  far  worse  than  that  is  the  effect 
of  confusion,  as  of  a  tangled  skein,  which  would  be  use- 
ful if  only  each  thread  could  be  made  to  run  clear  of  all 
the  rest.     Exclusion  is  simply  the  principle  of  Unity 
applied  to  each  separate  division  of  the  plan.     Each 
must  handle  its  own  material,  carry  its  own  weight  and 
no  more.    None  must  infringe  upon  any  other. 

3.  Sequence. — The  items  of  the  plan  should  be  ar- 
ranged in  an  order  which  the  mind  can  naturally  and 
readily  follow.    Sometimes  the  very  first  order  that  oc- 
curs to  the  speaker  or  writer  is  the  best,  because  it  is 
according  to  the  natural  laws  of  association  of  thought. 
"When  a  vast  mountain  is  the  chief  feature  in  a  land- 
scape, the  thought  of  every  beholder  is  drawn  first  to 
that  commanding  height.    Hence,  any  description  which 
begins  with  the  mountain  will  seem  natural  to  any  hearer 
or  reader.    So  Coleridge  begins  his  ' '  Hymn  Before  Sun- 
rise in  the  Vale  of  Chamouny ' ' : 

"Hast  thou  a  charm  to  stay  the  morning  star 
In  his  steep  course?    So  long  he  seems  to  pause 
On  thy  bald,  awful  head,  O  sovran  Blanc!" 

Afterward  he  can  speak  of  the  torrents,  the  "silent 
sea  of  pines,"  the  glaciers,  and  even  the  mountain  flow- 


418  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

ers.  The  laws  of  association  connect  cause  and  effect. 
But  the  connection  may  be  made  either  way.  "When 
Crusoe  saw  the  footprint  on  the  sand,  his  thought  leaped 
instantly  from  the  effect  to  its  cause, — an  intruding 
human  presence.  But  when  the  trailer  on  the  plains 
is  scanning  the  sands,  it  is  because  he  is  confident  of  a 
cause  in  the  flight  of  a  fugitive,  and  seeks  the  effect  in  a 
footprint.  Likeness  is  a  ground  of  association,  but  so, 
alas,  is  contrast.  The  mind  turns  readily  from  black 
to  white,  swiftly  appreciating  sharp  opposition. 

Any  thought  not  in  some  line  of  natural  sequence 
mars  the  whole  scheme.  It  does  not  agree  with  what 
precedes,  and  hence  comes  in  with  jarring  or  disturbing 
effect.  The  instant  mental  question  is,  "What  is  this 
doing  here?  It  does  not  lead  up  to  that  which  follows, 
and  thus  slows  up  the  whole  movement  of  thought.  The 
hearer  or  reader  can  not  go  on  until  he  has  got  by  that 
misplaced  thought,  or  got  rid  of  it.  Yet  that  inconse- 
quent idea  may  be  excellent  and  useful.  It  may  legiti- 
mately pertain  to  the  subject,  and  so  be  no  violation  of 
unity.  If  it  can  be  transferred  to  a  point  where  it  nat- 
urally connects  with  what  will  there  precede  and  follow 
it,  the  seemingly  intrusive  idea  may  vindicate  itself  as 
useful  and  important,  and  may  help  on  the  whole  move- 
ment of  the  discourse. 

However  attained,  that  is  a  good  plan  over  which, 
when  once  presented,  a  normal  mind  can  progress  with 
readiness  and  ease.  The  test  of  a  plan  is  like  the  test 
of  a  coat.  Does  it  fit  when  made  ? 

4.  Proportion. — This  means  that  the  different  elements 
of  the  plan  should  be  given  an  importance  in  presenta- 
tion suited  to  their  actual  importance  in  the  development 
of  the  theme.  An  element  that  stands  out  as  absolutely 
vital  must  have  accumulated  upon  it  all  that  can  be  of 


ART    IN    SPEAKING   AND    WRITING      419 

impressiveness.  The  less  important  matter  should  be 
minimized  in  the  treatment. 

The  most  obvious  way  of  doing  this  is  by  assignment 
of  time  or  space  to  each  topic  in  proportion  to  its  impor- 
tance. The  inexperienced  speaker  or  writer  often  takes 
some  subordinate  topic  of  his  plan  in  due  course,  be- 
comes interested  in  it,  follows  out  its  various  suggestions, 
supplies  illustrations,  until  he  suddenly  becomes  aware 
that  his  time  and  space  are  limited,  and  the  really  vital 
matters,  yet  to  follow,  must  be  despatched  as  best  they 
can  be  by  summary  execution.  Sometimes  an  interesting 
novel  comes  to  such  inglorious  finish.  You  have  followed 
the  various  characters  with  admiring  or  pathetic  inter- 
est, till  in  the  final  chapter  you  can  almost  hear  the 
author  saying,  ' '  This  thing  must  be  wound  up  here  and 
now,"  and  the  personages  come  up  for  prosperity,  glori- 
fication, or  slaughter,  as  if  a  charge  of  cavalry  had  been 
let  loose  upon  the  dramatis  persona?.  Again,  a  preacher 
becomes  so  absorbed  in  portraying  the  harmful  effects 
and  enslaving  power  of  evil  habits,  that  he  finds  his 
half -hour  almost  expired,  and  can  only  add  some  hurried 
suggestions  of  possibility  of  recovery  and  reform,  which 
are  cold  and  weak  by  contrast  with  what  has  gone  before. 
Even  an  experienced  speaker  may  fall  into  this  snare  in 
extemporaneous  discourse.  His  own  ardor  and  eloquence 
lure  him  on,  till  he  sees  the  jump  of  conclusion  springing 
into  view  before  him. 

Hurry  sometimes  must  be.  Some  of  the  very  best 
speaking  or  writing  ever  done  is  doing  in  driving  haste, 
where  the  exigency  and  the  speed  stimulate  to  utmost 
intensity  and  vigor.  But  somewhere  and  somehow  be- 
hind the  rush  there  must  be  forced  in  a  plan,  noting  the 
most  and  the  least  important  things  with  resolute  appor- 
tionment of  time  or  space,  and  that  plan  must  control 


420  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

the  whole  discourse,  as  his  schedule  controls  all  along 
the  line  the  engineer  of  the  express  train.  But  where 
time  for  deliberate  study  can  be  given,  most  valuable 
results  may  be  attained  by  apportioning  and  reappor- 
tioning  the  time  or  space  to  be  allowed  to  each  item  of 
the  discourse. 

Another  element  of  proportion  is  force.  There  is  a 
statement  that  says  on  one  subject  the  utmost  that  can 
be  said.  If  we  say  of  Machiavelli,  for  instance,  "He 
was  the  most  ingenious,  ruthless,  and  unscrupulous  poli- 
tician that  the  world  ever  saw,"  that  may  be  an  over- 
statement of  fact,  but  it  reaches  the  limit  of  comprehen- 
siveness, for  that  statement  can  not  well  be  surpassed. 
So  there  are  words  that  reach  the  limit  of  intensity  or 
power: — Ecstasy,  rapture,  perfection,  conquest,  victory, 
calamity,  disaster,  destruction,  ruin,  enraptured,  over- 
joyed, desolate,  woful,  majestic,  awful,  august,  sublime, 
and  many  another.  A  brief  passage  pervaded  by  such 
absolute  statement  and  by  such  intensity  and  force  of 
language  may  eclipse  a  much  longer  passage  expressed 
in  quiet  and  unemphatic  style.  Thus  a  just  proportion 
of  the  various  divisions  of  a  plan  may  be  in  part  secured 
by  a  wise  adjustment  of  relative  force,  and  not  merely 
by  length  or  brevity.  How  force  may  be  gained  for  a 
whole  composition  by  the  deliberate  weakening  of  cer- 
tain portions  is  well  shown  by  Professor  Barrett 
Wendell. 

"The  truth  is  that  in  written  style,  as  well  as  in  declama- 
tion, there  is  at  any  moment  a  fairly  distinct  limit  to  the 
power  of  any  given  man.  You  can  shout  just  so  loud  and  no 
louder;  you  can  be  just  so  passionate,  just  so  funny,  just 
so  pathetic,  and  not  a  bit  more.  .  .  .  There  are  moments, 
of  course,  that  call  for  your  utmost  power;  but  these  are 
rare.  And  your  utmost  strength  should  be  reserved  for  them. 
.  .  .  There  is  no  mere  technical  device  for  strengthening 


ART   IN    SPEAKING   AND    WRITING      421 

style,  then,  more  apt  to  be  of  value  than  the  deliberate 
weakening  of  passages  you  have  written  in  your  very  strong- 
est way.  Such  deliberate  weakening  of  all  but  the  very 
rare  passages  which  really  demand  your  utmost  power  re- 
sults at  once  in  a  connotation  directly  opposite  to  that  of 
vocal  or  written  rant.  It  is  evident  in  such  cases  that  there 
is  power  in  reserve.  .  .  .  The  tact  by  which  style  may  be 
kept  strong  enough  to  connote  no  weakness,  and  weak  enough 
to  connote  indefinite  strength,  is  perhaps  the  finest  trick  of 
the  writer's  trade.* 

Thus  a  statement  may  be  made  true  and  sufficient  for 
the  purpose  by  saying  very  much  less  than  might  be 
stated.  Instead  of  saying,  ' '  Overwhelming  financial  dis- 
aster brought  the  enterprise  to  inevitable  and  hopeless 
ruin, ' '  it  may  be  quite  enough  to  say, ' '  Financial  reverses 
compelled  the  discontinuance  of  the  enterprise."  From 
that  milder  statement  there  is  possible  an  indefinite  in- 
crease of  force  for  some  other  passage  where  greater 
force  may  be  required.  It  is  ill  to  speak  or  write  always 
at  the  top  of  one's  power.  If  the  most  strenuous  state- 
ments and  the  most  exalted,  pathetic,  or  tremendous 
words  are  resolutely  kept  out  of  the  less  important  pas- 
sages, they  may  come  in  with  utmost  impressiveness  in 
passages  that  are  meant  to  convey  the  greatest  power. 
So  a  painter  by  deepening  the  shadows  and  subduing 
the  tints  in  some  parts  of  his  picture  causes  the  light 
to  beam  forth  where  he  will  with  a  brightness  otherwise 
unattainable.  Severe  restraint  in  many  parts  of  a  dis- 
course makes  possible  exceeding  power  in  others  where 
the  orator  or  author  would  exert  his  utmost  force.  Such 
due  proportion  at  once  of  space  and  force  will  give  a 
composition  or  discourse  that  noble  and  shapely  com- 
pleteness which  we  admire  as  Symmetry. 

5.  Climax. — The  books  treat  Climax  as  a  "figure  of 

*  Barrett  Wendell :  "English  Composition,"  Ch.  vii,  p.  270. 


422  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

speech,"   chiefly   in   connection  with   the   sentence  or, 
sometimes,  the  paragraph.    But  it  is  by  no  means  desir- 
able  that  every  sentence,   still   less   every  paragraph, 
should  be  climactic.    Such  a  style  would  be  as  oppressive 
as  the  company  of  the  man  or  woman  who  is  always 
posing,  assuming  attitudes,  and  uttering  epigrams.   Ex- 
cessive use  of  climax  in  sentence  and  paragraph  not  only 
seems  artificial,  but  concentrates  attention  unduly  upon 
these  minor  features  of  composition.    But  for  every  total 
of  literary  production,  the  rule  is  almost,  if  not  abso- 
lutely, invariable,  that  every  argument,  discussion,  ora- 
tion, poem,  or  narrative,  should  be  climactic.     This  is 
almost  a  necessary  consequence  of  the  laws  of  thought. 
When  the  strongest  thing  has  been  said,  why  go  on? 
Any  addition  then  at  once  says  to  the  hearer  or  reader 
that  that  strongest  thing  is  not  strong  enough.    He  sees 
that  in  your  view  it  needs  buttressing.     But  you  have 
nothing  stronger  with  which  to  support  it.     "Whatever 
you  now  add  must  be  weaker.     You  have  foregone  the 
advantage  of  a  strong  position  in  order  to  make  a  stand 
upon  a  less  defensible  one.     This  is  a  pitiable  reversal 
of  sound  literary  strategy.    Then,  since  the  capacity  of 
human  memory  is  limited,  and  still  more  limited  the 
capacity  of  sustained  impression,  the  chief  care  of  orator 
or  author  must  be  the  final  impression,  which  the  hearer 
or  reader  infallibly  carries  away. 

Out  of  the  items  of  the  plan  the  very  strongest  thing 
must  be  chosen  for  the  finish.  Then  those  that  lead  up 
to  it  must  be  arranged  in  an  ascending  order  so  that  the 
latest  thing  said  at  any  point  shall  never  be  weaker,  but 
always  stronger,  than  that  which  went  before.  These 
must  never  be  a  step  down  or  backward,  but  always 
ascending  and  advancing.  The  speaker  who  can  main- 
tain this  steady  increase  of  interest  holds  an  audience 


ART    IN    SPEAKING   AND   WRITING      428 

in  the  hollow  of  his  hand ;  the  writer  who  can  maintain 
it  may  be  sure  that  the  reader  will  follow  on  and  on 
till  the  last  word  is  read. 

The  climactic  power  of  proportion  by  force  may  often 
and  well  supersede  proportion  by  space  and  time.  When, 
for  instance,  the  early  part  of  a  discourse  has  laid,  by 
extended  treatment,  the  foundations  of  belief,  one  brief 
paragraph  of  concentrated  force  may  be  the  one  thing 
needed  to  rush  the  mind  to  swift  and  sure  conclusion. 

In  any  oration  or  treatise  that  aims  at  that  greatest 
of  all  practical  results,  the  influencing  of  man  to  action, 
the  plan  must  take  account  of  the  three  great  elements 
of  the  human  mind,  the  intellect,  the  emotions,  and  the 
will.  The  will  is  never  moved  without  some  emotion. 
You  have  not  stirred  a  man  to  action  as  long  as  he  says, 
"This  is  doubtless  true,  but  I  don't  care."  He  must 
be  made  to  care  by  some  influence  upon  the  emotions. 
The  thought  must  be  impressed  upon  the  intellect  as 
true,  then  it  must  enlist  the  feelings  and  sympathies, 
after  which  it  is  a  short  step  to  lead  the  will  to  act  on 
what  the  intellect  believes  and  the  heart  desires.  The 
strongest  emotional  appeal  should  be  at  the  climactic 
close.  Nothing  must  follow  to  chill  its  glow ;  and  it  must 
be  remembered,  that,  since  emotion  is  essentially  transi- 
tory, it  will  cool  upon  the  very  anvil,  if  it  is  hammered 
too  long. 

THE  TITLE 

The  title  is  the  name  or  form  under  which  the  speaker 
or  writer  chooses  to  present  his  subject  for  first  consid- 
eration. At  times  the  subject  to  be  treated  is  so  clear-cut 
a  proposition  as  to  be  itself  the  theme,  and  to  be  also 
the  very  best  title.  But,  as  a  rule,  the  title  is  chosen 
for  some  supposed  element  of  attractiveness,  and  may 


424  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

only  very  distantly,  or  even  not  at  all,  intimate  the 
theme.  The  "Iliad"  evidently  has  some  reference  to 
the  siege  of  Troy,  and  the  "J^neid"  to  the  story  of 
./Eneas;  "Paradise  Lost"  carries  the  very  central 
thought  of  the  poem;  "Marmion"  means  nothing  until 
one  has  read  the  story.  The  title  of  most  novels,  as 
"Ivanhoe,"  "Guy  Mannering,"  "Rob  Roy,"  "David 
Copper-field,"  "Martin  Chuzzlewit,"  "Oliver  Twist," 
give  little  or  no  clue  to  the  purpose  and  character  of  the 
works  they  name.  If  a  work  is  good,  it  will  make  its 
way  under  any  title;  if  it  is  not,  no  title  can  give  it 
life  and  power.  "Where  a  title  can  be  found  that  will 
give  an  adequate  key  to  the  work,  there  is  a  distinct 
advantage,  as  the  hearer  or  reader  feels  at  every  step 
and  at  the  end  the  satisfaction  of  quid  pro  quo,  the 
receiving  an  expected  equivalent  for  his  expenditure 
of  attention  and  of  time.  Still  the  thought  of  Dr.  John- 
son's utterance  controls,  that  the  fate  of  a  book  is  de- 
cided "not  by  what  is  written  about  it,  but  by  what  is 
written  in  it."  If  another  man  shall  arise  who  can 
write  plays  equal  to  Shakespeare's,  he  may  give  them 
titles  as  colorless  as  "The  Tempest,"  "Macbeth,"  or 
"Hamlet,  Prince  of  Denmark,"  and  the  world  will  be 
well  content. 

Certain  publishers  secure  a  collection  of  pictures  illus- 
trating great  catastrophes  by  fire,  flood,  cyclone,  volcano, 
and  earthquake.  An  author  is  requested  to  write  an 
introduction  to  the  volume.  Where  can  unity  be  found 
in  such  a  mixture?  The  effect  of  fire  is  the  very  oppo- 
site of  that  of  flood;  the  cyclone  is  a  convulsion  of  the 
air,  and  the  earthquake  a  shaking  of  the  ground.  At 
first,  unity  seems  hopeless,  but  suddenly  you  see  that  all 
these  agencies  have  destroyed  cities  and  homes  and  lives. 
There  is  the  point  of  resemblance.  They  are  alike  in 


ART    IN    SPEAKING    AND    WRITING      425 

their  effect  upon  humanity.  Hence  you  may  have  the 
theme, ' '  Elemental  Disasters  in  Their  Effect  Upon  Man. ' ' 
This  theme  has  unity,  so  that  you  can  work  upon  it, 
and  combine  these  various  elemental  agencies  of  destruc- 
tion in  a  single  treatment  as  regards  man,  who  may  be 
the  victim  of  their  fury. 

But  this  theme  would  never  do  for  a  title,  because  it 
is  heavy  in  statement  and  repellant  in  tone.  People  are 
not  attracted  to  a  chapter  of  "disasters."  What  title 
can  we  get  that  will  be  briefer  and  more  attractive? 
Suppose  we  say,  "Nature's  War  Upon  Man."  This  is 
brief  in  statement,  true  to  the  theme,  and  at  the  same 
time  has  the  wild  charm  that  always  attaches  to  a  story 
of  battle.  On  that  we  can  build  somewhat  as  follows : 

We  talk  boastfully  of  man's  conquest  of  Nature,  and  his 
triumphs,  indeed,  are  wonderful.  But  it  is  not  all  triumph. 
There  are  defeats  and  reverses  in  this  age-long  war,  and 
Nature  from  time  to  time  breaks  out  in  fierce  reprisal. 

We  dwell  on  the  surface  of  a  little  globe  that  is  whirled 
like  a  grain  of  dust  through  the  infinite  spaces,  held  by  the 
invisible  thread  of  the  sun's  attraction  from  whirling  off  into 
the  outer  darkness,  and  by  the  unknown  primal  impulse  of 
planetary  motion  from  dropping  into  the  globe  of  fire.  We 
move  and  build  on  a  thin  crust  spread  over  a  seetbing  fur- 
nace, everywhere  but  a  little  way  beneath  our  feet.  Fr®m 
time  to  time  tbe  bidden  fires  force  mountains  of  molten 
rock  forth  from  the  volcano,  or  the  earthcrust  shivers  and 
wrinkles  and  topples  down  our  cities  as  the  planet  cools; 
seas  and  rivers  slightly  change  their  level  and  floods  over- 
whelm our  habitation;  or  warring  winds  from  north  and 
south  whirl  past  in  the  fury  of  conflict,  and  man  himself 
and  bis  proudest  works  are  borne  like  feathers  on  the  blast; 
or  the  sea  of  oxygen  in  which  we  live  suddenly  begins  to 
combine  on  a  mighty  scale  with  tbe  carbon  of  which  all  our 
structures  are  built,  and  we  are  in  a  sea  of  flame,  and  where 
one  day  were  proud  marts  of  trade  and  miles  of  peaceful 
homes,  the  next  there  is  a  blackened  waste. 


426  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

But  through  all  these  catastrophes  comes  out  triumphant 
the  soul  of  man.  There  is  enforced  recognition  of  human 
brotherhood  when  rich  and  poor  are  involved  in  one  com- 
munity of  disaster.  Those  who  escape  will  toil  in  weariness 
and  pain  and  heartache  to  rescue  and  relieve  the  injured; 
far-off  cities  rush  in  their  relief  trains;  physicians,  with  the 
brave  humanity  of  science,  come  from  distant  homes  to  labor 
all  unpaid  till  heart  and  hand  fail  in  generous  devotion  to 
the  needs  of  suffering  fellow-men.  Then,  when  all  is  done, 
the  smitten  host  rise  up  heart  to  heart  and  shoulder  to 
shoulder,  rebuild  their  city,  fence  out  river  and  ocean  by 
mightier  walls,  put  steel  and  stone  in  place  of  wood,  and 
conquer  prosperity  again. 

Out  of  the  vastness  of  disaster  shines  forth  the  glory  of 
man's  spiritual  nature,  superior  to  all  the  blind  world  of 
matter,  and  proving  the  deep  truth  of  Pascal's  saying: 

"Man  is  the  feeblest  thing  in  nature.  .  .  .  But  though  the 
universe  should  arm  itself  against  him,  man  is  still  greater 
than  that  which  destroys  him,  for  he  knows  that  he  dies, 
while  of  the  power  which  it  has  over  him  the  universe  knows 
not  anything."  And  out  of  wreck  and  rain  come  those  grand 
traits  of  human  courage,  endurance,  generosity,  and  com- 
passion, that  are  more  than  life  and  stronger  than  death, 
and  that  point  to  a  yet  nobler  immortal  life. 

See  how  much  has  come  out  of  the  mixture  of  incon- 
gruous items  of  a  single  subject,  when  out  of  that  sub- 
ject you  have  evolved  the  unity  of  a  controlling  theme. 

As  to  special  details  of  the  Plan: 

(1)  The  Introduction  is  for  the  sake  of  the  audience, 
—to  awaken  interest  in  the  topic,  so  as  to  enable  the 
reader  or  hearer  to  start  fairly  with  you.  This  is  what 
the  books  of  rhetoric  mean  by  "conciliating"  the  audi- 
ence. Not  that  it  is  ever  to  be  assumed  that  an  audience 
is  hostile,  but  that  it  is  desirable  to  seek  at  the  start  some 
common  ground — some  point  of  possible  present  agree- 
ment. Sometimes  the  introduction  may  state  the  subject 
of  the  discourse ;  sometimes,  as  in  telling  a  story,  that  is 


ART    IN   SPEAKING   AND    WRITING      427 

held  in  reserve  till  the  close,  the  introduction  merely 
saying  enough  to  make  the  reader  or  hearer  desire  to 
know  the  rest.  In  any  case,  the  purpose  of  the  introduc- 
tion is  somehow  to  awaken  an  interest  in  what  is  to  come. 
Often  the  very  best  introduction  consists  in  beginning 
squarely  with  what  one  has  to  say.  Why  not  ?  Hearers 
or  readers  are  ready  to  enter  upon  the  subject,  or  they 
would  not  have  come  to  the  audience-room  or  taken  up 
the  book.  Let  them  have  at  once  what  they  have  come 
for.  Stronger  than  all  his  carefully  wrought  introduc- 
tions is  Cicero's  plunge  into  attack  in  the  fourth  Catili- 
narian  oration,  "How  long  then,  0  Catiline,  dost  thou 
abuse  our  patience  ? ' ' — in  which  he  doubtless  uttered  the 
instinctive  resentment  of  all  loyal  senators  at  the  effront- 
ery of  the  conspirator  in  taking  his  seat  among  them. 
The  short  story  is  apt  to  start  in  the  midst  of  some  scene, 
only  afterward,  perhaps,  giving  a  clue  to  what  had  hap- 
pened before.  There  are  other  occasions  when  a  special 
introductory  utterance  is  needed  to  bring  the  minds  of 
those  addressed  into  a  ready  accord  with  the  main 
thought  the  speaker  or  writer  would  present.  All  intro- 
duction beyond  this  is  futile,  and  a  hindrance,  however 
beautiful. 

(2)  Objections  that  must  be  noticed  should  be  deftly 
sandwiched  in.  As  an  almost  invariable  rule,  objections 
should  not  appear  either  in  the  introduction  or  in  the 
conclusion:  not  in  the  introduction,  lest  you  start  with 
antagonism;  not  in  the  conclusion,  lest  you  leave  the 
objection  as  the  last  impression  on  the  reader's  or  hear- 
er's mind,  so  that  his  final  thought  is,  "There's  a  great 
deal  to  be  said  on  the  other  side  after  all. ' '  This  leaves 
the  speaker  or  writer  on  the  defensive  at  the  end,  instead 
of  triumphant. 

Unless  you  can  answer  an  objection  conclusively,  do 


428  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

not  mention  it.  Your  omission  of  it  may  be  thought 
to  be  because  you  do  not  consider  it  of  consequence,  but 
your  failure  to  answer  it  when  mentioned  is  confession 
of  defeat.  Very  likely  those  you  address  have  never 
heard  of  the  objection,  and  may  never  think  of  it.  Do 
not  plunge  them  into  difficulty  from  which  you  can  not 
help  them  out.  Thus  the  present  writer  heard  a  promi- 
nent preacher  begin  a  sermon  on  the  temptations  of  the 
devil  with  an  objection  to  the  very  existence  of  a  per- 
sonal devil ;  the  objection  was  stronger  than  anything 
in  the  preacher's  reply,  and  coming  at  the  very  begin- 
ning of  the  discourse  left  all  the  rest  in  shadow.  That 
objection  is  the  only  thing  I  remember  of  that  sermon, — 
the  one  thing  I  can  never  forget. 

Start  well  with  your  subject ;  develop  your  thought  on 
some  point  of  power  and  interest ;  then, — if  necessary — 
mention  that  some  persons  have  made  certain  objections, 
which  you  will  now  incidentally  brush  aside.  Get  the 
difficulties  out  of  the  way.  You  have  disposed  of  all 
that.  Then  go  on  with  something  positive,  and  come 
to  the  concentrated  power  of  your  conclusion. 

(3)  The  Conclusion. — This  has  often  been  treated  as 
a  necessary  appendix  to  be  added  to  a  discourse  after 
all  has  been  said.  But  a  detached  conclusion  is  a  blemish 
and  a  deformity.  At  some  time  a  formal  conclusion 
strengthens  a  discourse  by  giving  it  definite  final  direc- 
tion. An  argument  may  be  reenforced  by  a  vigorous 
summary  of  its  main  points  as  a  conclusion,  sweeping 
the  substance  of  all  that  has  been  said  in  swift  review 
at  the  final  moment.  There  are  occasions  when  bringing 
all  the  preceding  utterance  into  direct  connection  with 
some  matter  of  time,  place,  or  personality  may  focus  the 
thought  upon  something  of  deep  interest  to  hearers  or 
readers ; — though  often,  if  they  are  simply  left  with  the 


ART    IN    SPEAKING    AND    WRITING      429 

main  thought,  they  may  be  trusted  to  make  more  effec- 
tive application  of  it  by  and  for  themselves  than  any- 
thing the  speaker  or  writer  might  add  would  lead 
them  to. 

Often  and  often  there  is  nothing  better  than  to  end 
with  the  strongest  thing  you  have  to  say;  the  one  chief 
thought  you  wish  to  impress  growing  naturally  out  of 
all  that  has  been  said  before,  so  that  the  whole  discourse 
is  masked  behind  the  clear,  shining  climax,  which  is  your 
conclusion.  When  circumstances  permit,  the  very  best 
conclusion  is  simply  to  stop  at  the  height  of  achievement. 

THE  COMPLETE  EXPRESSION 

This  is  the  filling  up  and  rounding  out  of  every 
feature  of  the  plan,  to  give  it  force,  effect,  and  beauty 
in  the  appreciation  of  the  readers  or  hearers. 

The  one  theme  has  been  found  and  clearly  defined. 
Its  elements  have  been  drawn  out  in  the  lines  and 
branches  of  the  orderly  plan.  Now,  in  the  complete 
expression,  all  that  is  in  the  theme  and  plan  is  to  be  put 
in  finished,  effective,  and  attractive  form. 

This  shaping  of  all  the  material  into  Complete  Expres- 
sion is  called,  in  the  books  of  rhetoric,  Amplification. 
The  idea  is  that  the  plan  is  a  condensed  composition,  and 
that  the  final  utterance  is  but  amplification  of  the  plan. 
While  this  is  always  theoretically  true,  it  may  at  times 
be  far  from  the  actual  fact.  A  vigorous  mind  may  be 
almost  swamped  by  its  own  rush  of  thought.  Intense 
interest  may  accumulate  material  far  beyond  what  time 
or  space  will  permit  one  to  use,  so  that  the  so-called 
amplification  is  in  fact  abridgment.  Yet  if  the  abridg- 
ment is  good,  it  will  be  according  to  a  plan,  which  can 
be  abstracted  from  the  mass  and  definitely  stated  in  con- 


430  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

secutive  items,  the  complete  expression  being  then  the 
amplification  of  that  abstract. 

In  the  complete  expression,  illustration,  ornament, 
emotional  suggestion  or  appeal  may  find  place.  Here 
the  speaker  or  writer  comes  into  personal  touch  with 
those  he  addresses,  every  word  designed  to  go  direct  from 
him  to  them. 

The  amplification  must  be  as  much  in  harmony  with 
the  theme  as  is  the  plan  itself,  and  must  have  the  unity 
of  the  theme,  every  finishing  touch  bringing  out  more 
perfectly  the  central  controlling  thought.  It  is  as  when 
in  the  opening  spring  the  strong  branches  and  feathery 
twigs  of  the  tree,  that  form  its  substantial  unity  of 
structure,  (the  plan  of  the  tree)  burst  out  with  leaves, 
blossoms,  and  fruit  from  the  inherent  power  of  life  per- 
vading all  the  perfect  organism.  Amplification  reaches 
out  into  the  universe  of  thought,  and  draws  in  every 
idea  and  every  image  that  may  be  fitly  gathered  within 
that  field  along  those  lines. 

Now  the  element  of  exclusion  in  the  plan  becomes 
helpful.  The  author  takes  each  subordinate  topic  for 
the  moment  as  if  there  were  no  other.  All  he  has  to 
say  on  that  division  of  the  plan,  he  will,  within  his  pre- 
scribed limits  of  place  and  time,  say  then  and  there. 
Inventive  art  is  working  now  along  narrower  lines. 
Within  those  limits  he  may  deal  with  that  single  topic 
independently  with  all  freedom  and  fulness,  as  nature 
perfectly  finishes  every  petal  that  joins  to  make  th^ 
rose. 

It  was  my  privilege  many  years  ago  to  see  that  great 
painting,  Church's  " Heart  of  the  Andes."  It  was  a 
large  canvas,  filling  the  center  of  one  side  of  a  great 
room.  Each  visitor  was  provided  with  an  opera  glass 
for  better  view.  At  first  one  did  not  seem  to  need  the 


ART    IN    SPEAKING    AND    WRITING      431 

glass.  There  were  the  giant  mountains.  On  the  left 
were  snow-capped  peaks  rising  far  into  the  sunny 
heaven,  the  fleecy  clouds  flitting  midway  about  their 
giant  forms.  On  the  right  were  other  peaks  of  less  ele- 
vation, grim,  rugged  masses  of  rock,  dark  in  the  fury 
of  a  thunder-storm.  You  could  see  that  they  were  dis- 
tant many  a  mile, — far  away,  under  another  sky.  Be- 
tween them  stretched  lower  hills,  forests,  and  forest 
glades,  while  far  back  in  the  center  of  the  landscape 
shone  the  blue  waters  of  a  quiet  lake.  You  could  just 
distinguish  the  groves  and  scattered  trees  along  its 
shores,  and  on  the  farther  side  could  note  a  group  of 
white  specks,  which  you  knew  to  be  the  houses  of  a  vil- 
lage. In  the  foreground  were  dense  masses  of  forest, 
and  in  the  very  center  a  sunlit  space  full  of  bright  trop- 
ical flowers. 

When  eye  and  mind  had  taken  in  all  the  scene,  we 
turned  upon  it  the  magnifying-glass,  when  all  increased 
in  grandeur  and  beauty.  Every  separate  crag,  every 
jutting  rock  of  the  mountains  came  out  clearly  into 
view ;  we  could  distinguish  the  crowns  of  the  individual 
trees  that  made  up  the  mass  of  the  forest ;  the  houses  of 
the  far  village  and  the  white  church  with  its  clock-tower 
stood  out  in  clear  contour;  and  we  could  trace  every 
petal  of  the  bright  flowers  that  seemed  to  lie  at  our  very 
feet  in  the  foreground. 

The  artist  had  first  swept  the  whole  scene  with  a  mas- 
ter's vision,  and  sketched  out  the  mountain  masses  and 
all  other  great  features  in  grand  relief  and  just  propor- 
tion. That  comprehensive  sketch  answered  to  the 
author's  or  orator's  plan  of  his  entire  discourse  or 
treatise.  Then  he  had  treated  with  loving  care  each 
feature  of  the  vast  landscape,  devoting  himself  for  the 
time  to  that  single  scene  as  if  it  were  an  independent 


432  EXPEESSIVE    ENGLISH 

picture,  and  as  if  that  scene  were  all,  bringing  out  the 
rocks  and  crags  on  the  mountain-side,  the  individual 
trees  that  signalized  themselves  in  the  forest,  and  each 
flower  of  nature's  bright  garden  that  filled  the  fore- 
ground. Each  minor  scene  was  perfected  as  if  it  were 
all,  yet  its  relation  to  the  total  was  never  lost,  but  each 
was  more  by  association  or  contrast  with  all  else  that 
made  the  picture.  The  mountain  lake  was  more  placid 
by  contrast  with  the  thunder-smitten  crags,  the  luxuri- 
ant forests  were  brighter  with  fulness  of  life,  and  the 
flowers  of  the  plain  more  delicately  beautiful  because 
of  the  icy  peaks  rising  into  eternal  cold  and  silence 
beyond. 

Only  by  a  like  comprehensive   perfection   does  the 
artist  of  speech  become  truly  master  of  his  art. 


CHAPTER   XIX 
CONSTRUCTIVE    LITERARY    WORK 

To  apply  the  principles  of  inventive  art  in  speaking 
and  writing  to  the  actual  performance — to  turn  theory 
into  achievement — is  the  problem  that  besets,  and  often 
dismays,  the  inexperienced  speaker  or  writer ;  and  from 
its  difficulties  even  the  accomplished  orator  or  author 
never  wholly  shakes  himself  free.  Beyond  all  knowl- 
edge of  how  the  thing  may  be  done  is  the  practical  ability 
to  do  it,  so  that  words  shall  be  spoken  worthy  the  atten- 
tion of  a  listening  audience,  or  an  effective  writing  fin- 
ished under  one's  hand.  "We  need  what  the  Romans 
expressed  by  res  gestce,  "things  done,"  and  the  French 
by  fait  accompli,  "accomplished  fact."  By  what  means 
may  such  actual  result  be  attained? 

Here  is  a  ream  of  paper,  a  pencil  or  pen,  and  a  writer. 
How  is  an  essay,  a  poem,  a  book,  to  be  made  out  of  that 
combination?  It  can  be  done.  It  has  been  done.  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh,  while  a  prisoner  in  the  Tower  of  London, 
wrote  his  ' '  History  of  the  World ; ' '  Bunyan,  in  Bedford 
jail,  his  "Pilgrim's  Progress;"  Milton,  in  blindness,  his 
' '  Paradise  Lost ; ' '  Scott  dictated  some  of  his  novels  while 
suffering  such  excruciating  pain  that  he  kept  the  doors 
of  his  study  closed,  lest  his  irrepressible  cries  should 
disturb  those  without.  If  there  is  thought  and  opportu- 
nity, that  thought  can  be  written  down  in  readable 
words.  Or,  again,  here  is  a  man  and  an  assembly  wait- 
ing for  him  to  address  them.  How  shall  he  speak  words 
that  may  hold  their  interested  attention? 

433 


434  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

Such  are  the  problems  presented  in  literary  construc- 
tion, for  oratory,  so  far  as  it  is  premeditated,  is  a  form 
of  literary  work.  If  it  lives  beyond  its  immediate  occa- 
sion and  effect,  it  lives  only  as  literature.  The  orations 
of  Demosthenes  and  Cicero  are  but  a  form  of  literature 
to  the  modern  world.  That  the  best  work  may  be  done, 
there  must  be  some  method  of  construction  for  a  writing 
or  a  speech  as  truly  as  for  a  building.  What  shall  that 
method  be? 

I.  THE  SUBJECT  OR  THEME 

In  the  first  place,  there  must  be  a  subject.  Sometimes 
this  is  supplied  by  those  who  demand  the  work — pub- 
lishers, a  society,  a  college,  an  audience;  sometimes  by 
an  occasion,  as  the  Landing  of  the  Pilgrims,  the  Birth- 
day of  Washington  or  of  Lincoln ;  often  it  is  left  to  the 
free  choice  of  the  speaker  or  writer  himself.  From  his 
subject,  however  obtained,  he  must  then  derive  a  theme 
which  shall  be  his  own.  How  is  that  to  be  secured  ? 

There  are  times,  indeed,  of  no  perplexity.  Some  truth 
or  belief  has  long  been  shaping  itself  in  thought.  The 
life  of  the  thinker  has  woven  itself  around  it.  All  the 
occurrences  of  the  outer  world  have  seemed  to  illustrate 
it.  When  he  would  speak  or  write  upon  it,  thoughts 
crowd  thick  upon  him.  The  only  question  is,  how  he 
shall  marshal  them.  Sometimes  the  plan  also  springs 
full-formed  into  the  mind.  The  author  sees,  as  down  a 
forest  vista,  what  shall  be  the  opening  thought,  what 
shall  follow  in  effective  order,  and  what  shall  be  the 
climax  of  conclusion.  Then  he  has  only  to  be  "obedient 
to  the  heavenly  vision,"  seize  the  cloud-shapes  before 
they  dissolve  or  fade,  and  put  them  into  permanent  form 
to  impress  the  minds  of  other  men.  It  was  such  sudden 
awakening  and  marshaling  of  thought  that  the  ancients 


CONSTRUCTIVE    LITERARY   WORK       435 

spoke  of  as  the  ' '  divine  frenzy ' '  of  the  poet,  and  depicted 
under  the  figure  of  the  ''Muse,"  bringing  to  him  from 
Olympian  heights  his  inspiration. 

These  times  of  vision  are  glorious.  In  such  crowding 
upon  the  mind  of  the  gathered  thought  and  feeling  of 
months  or  years,  some  of  the  greatest  work  the  speaker 
or  writer  can  ever  do  will  be  performed.  It  was  thus  in 
Webster's  Reply  to  Hayne,  for  which  he  had  had  no 
opportunity  to  prepare.  All  the  studies  of  years  as  to 
the  constitution  of  our  federal  government,  all  the  long- 
cherished  enthusiasm  for  the  sacredness  of  the  Union 
came  rushing  into  his  mind,  eager  and  in  haste  for  ex- 
pression. He  himself  said  of  it,  "The  air  around  me 
seemed  to  be  full  of  arguments ;  I  had  only  to  reach  up 
and  pull  down  a  thunderbolt  and  hurl  it  at  him." 

But  such  times  of  vision  are  rare,  even  for  the  masters 
of  oratory  or  of  literature.  One  who  waits  for  them 
will  do  but  desultory  and  fragmentary  work.  The 
world's  great  enterprises  are  not  to  be  conducted  by 
sudden  bursts,  even  of  transcendent  eloquence.  One  who 
will  work  only  under  the  impetus  of  hurrying  vision, 
will  spend  a  large  part  of  his  life  as  a  literary  Micawber, 
"waiting  for  something  to  turn  up."  His  course  will 
be  like  that  of  a  tropical  river,  most  of  the  year  flowing 
in  a  feeble  and  sluggish  stream  amid  barren  sands,  use- 
less by  its  weakness, — then,  in  times  of  freshet,  a  raging 
torrent,  too  often  useless  by  its  violence. 

One  who  would  have  enduring  power  in  the  world 
must  do  steady  continuous  constructive  work,  not  always 
as  he  would,  but  as  he  can.  This  is  the  kind  of  service 
most  useful  and  most  esteemed  in  the  ordinary  course 
of  life.  Such  work  demands  steady  and  resolute  indus- 
try for  the  author  or  the  orator,  as  much  as  for  the  car- 
penter. Dr.  Parker,  the  great  London  preacher,  tells 


43G  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

how  he  thus  labored  year  after  year,  going  resolutely 
into  his  study  at  the  appointed  time,  and  beginning  to 
work  at  what  seemed  to  him  a  fitting  text,  which  often 
at  first  offered  no  suggestion,  with  the  resolve,  "This 
text  shall  yield  me  a  sermon. ' '  He  did  not  always  reach 
the  supreme  heights  of  eloquence,  but  such  solid  work 
always  yielded  some  worthy  result, — something  to  make 
it  worth  while  for  an  audience  to  come,  something  to 
pay  them  for  coming.  A  vigorous  mind,  by  resolute 
thinking,  with  the  infinite  universe  to  draw  upon,  can 
find  a  theme  suited  to  any  occasion  that  may  arise.  It 
is  told  of  Frederick  the  Great  of  Prussia,  who  loved  ec- 
centric exertions  of  despotism,  that  at  one  time,  when 
seeking  a  court  chaplain,  he  made  it  a  condition  that 
every  candidate  for  the  office  should  preach  only  upon 
a  subject  given  him  after  he  entered  the  pulpit.  One 
Sunday  the  minister  was  allowed  to  go  through  all  the 
opening  services  without  a  suggestion,  and  only  at  the 
last  moment  when  he  must  rise  to  preach,  an  orderly 
stepped  up,  and  handed  him  a  sealed  envelope.  The 
envelope  contained  only  a  blank  sheet  of  paper.  After 
scrutinizing  it  to  be  sure  there  was  no  hidden  mark,  the 
preacher  stepped  forward  and  held  the  paper  up  before 
his  audience,  saying,  "My  brethren,  here  is  nothing; 
and,"  turning  the  sheet  over,  "there  is  nothing; — and 
out  of  Nothing  God  made  all  things."  Then  he  began 
a  powerful  sermon  on  the  Creation.  He  had  brought 
absolute  vacuity  into  relation  with  the  creative  power  of 
the  Lord  God  Omnipotent. 

The  theme  once  chosen,  what  shall  be  the  next  step? 
Many  books  and  teachers  answer,  to  make  an  abstract 
— form  a  plan.  This  is  theoretically  a  sound  and  excel- 
lent rule.  But  in  practise  an  abstract  or  analysis  is  often 
the  most  baffling  of  all  things.  Why?  Because,  to 


CONSTRUCTIVE    LITERARY   WORK       437 

abstract  there  must  be  something  to  be  abstracted;  to 
make  an  analysis  there  must  be  something  to  be  analyzed. 
Often  the  very  elemental  ideas  of  which  a  plan  might 
be  built  do  not  yet  exist  in  the  speaker's  or  writer's 
mind.  Hence,  to  meet  the  needs  of  a  vast  number,  we 
would  take  up  next,  not  the  plan,  but : 

II.  THE  GATHERING  OF  MATERIAL 

If  a  subject  seems  barren  and  empty,  so  that  you  do 
not  see  how  any  one  could  write  upon  it,  that  is  because 
you  do  not  know  enough  about  it.  Then  the  first  thing 
to  do  is  to  gather  material.  Any  subject  can  be  made 
interesting  if  you  know  enough  about  it,  and  know  how 
to  tell  it.  The  present  author  heard  at  one  time  a  very 
pleasing  lecture  upon  table-knives;  but  it  was  from  an 
expert  in  their  manufacture. 

Suppose  you  are  called  upon  for  an  address  or  an 
essay  on  a  subject  as  to  which  you  can  form  no  definite 
plan,  because  you  have  yet  no  adequate  knowledge.  The 
exigencies  of  life  do  make  such  demands.  Then  start 
in  with  the  drag-net  method. 

(1)  Get  a  blank-book  or  a  bound  pad  of  suitable  size. 
Have  nothing  to  do  with  loose  sheets,  which  are  liable 
to  be  scattered  or  lost.  Be  sure  that  you  are  going  to 
keep  all  together,  and  all  ready  on  demand,  the  items 
you  are  to  gather  with  painstaking  care.  If  you  foresee 
much  material  to  collect,  your  book  or  pad  may  be  one 
of  a  set,  of  uniform  size,  which  you  can  number  1,  2,  3, 
etc.  A  vest-pocket  memorandum-book  will  be  a  useful 
auxiliary  for  such  items  as  may  occur  to  you  when 
absent  from  your  desk. 

This  is  to  be  your  omnium  gatherum — a  convenient 
receptacle  for  material  of  every  kind  awaiting  classifica- 


438  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

tion  at  a  future  time.  You  are  emancipated  from  all 
bondage  of  order  or  system.  You  are  starting  out  for  a 
raid  upon  the  universe,  to  gather  supplies  wherever  you 
can  find  them.  You  do  not  yet  know  which  will  prove 
to  be  the  most  important.  You  need  not  pause  to  know 
while  gathering,  but  thrust  all  into  your  receptacle, 
to  be  assorted  afterward  according  to  their  value  or 
connection. 

(2)  To  start  your  collection,  write  down  all  you  al- 
ready know  about  the  subject;  also  all  you  think  or 
imagine  about  it.    This  is  important,  because  it  is  your 
own.    Much  of  it  may  be  very  crude  or  very  worthless, 
but  it  is  genuine  for  you.    Even  if  you  afterward  reject 
it,  you  will  be  the  better  off  for  having  sifted  your  own 
thoughts,  and  found  out  what  you  do  not  want.    Mat- 
ters of  which  you  are  in  doubt  should  be  noted  with  a 
very  conspicuous  question  mark,  which  printers  call  a 
"query."     On  a  subject  such  as  we  have  supposed, 
where  you  have  little  information  to  start  with,  this 
record  of  your  original  thought  will  not  take  much  time 
or  space. 

(3)  Find  what  books  there  are  to  read  on  that  sub- 
ject.   Make  careful  memoranda  of  all  the  best,  or  all  that 
your  time  and  circumstances  will  make  it  possible  for  you 
to  read,  with  the  full  title  of  each  work  and  the  names  of 
author  and  publishers.    This  is  work  of  far-reaching  and 
enduring  utility.    One  of  the  most  important  forms  of 
knowledge  for  every  student  is  of  the  sources  from  which 
knowledge  may  be  obtained.     You  can  rarely  hope  to 
gain  it  all  at  once,  but  you  have  learned  the  path,  and 
can  at  any  time  go  back,  and  fill  your  cup  at  the  same 
spring.     Always  when  possible  consult  the  actual  book, 
rather  than  a  quotation  from  it,  or  what  someone  has 
written  about  it.    In  doing  this  you  will  be  sure  to  get 


CONSTRUCTIVE    LITERARY    WORK       439 

more  than  you  go  for,  and  will  be  better  prepared  to 
go  again. 

(4)  Begin  reading  with  the  first  good  book  you  can 
get  hold  of.    You  will  lose  time,  chill  your  enthusiasm, 
and  get  the  dawdling  habit,  if  you  will  not  read  anything 
till  you  can  get  the  very  best.    The  most  important  thing 
is  to  set  your  own  mind  fairly  at  work.    Do  something. 
In  the  vivid  language  of  the  street,  "Get  a  move  on." 
Begin  to  read  some  book,  even  while  you  are  waiting  to 
get  the  very  best  one. 

(5)  If  the  book  is  your  own,  mark  important  passages 
freely;  write  the  moment's  comment  in  the   margin. 
Those  instantaneous  suggestions  will  be  some  of  the  best 
you  will  ever  get.    You  may  toil  in  vain  to  reach  the 
same  afterward  by  dull  and  cold  reflection.     Moreover, 
you  can  find  anything  you  want  in  that  marked  book  as 
fast  as  you  can  turn  the  pages.    At  all  specially  inter- 
esting or  important  points  make  notes  in  your  note-book, 
with  a  few  key-words  and  reference  to  volume  and  page 
— just  to  blaze  your  track,  so  that  you  can  go  back  over 
it  again  when  you  will.    Do  not  try  to  write  a  laborious 
abstract  of  every  paragraph  you  read,  as  some  old  books 
recommend.    That  process  would  take  the  life  out  of  a 
sensational  novel.    Read  fast, — fast  enough  to  get  inter- 
ested, and  catch  the  movement  and  scope  of  the  author 's 
thought.     Then,  when  you  have  run  through  a  portion 
so,  go  back  over  it,  while  all  is  still  fresh  in  your  mind, 
and  make  your  notes  on  that  portion.     Then  start  on 
another  stretch  of  reading,  and  so  move  forward  by 
stages  till  you  have  finished  the  book,  or  so  much  of  it 
as  you  have  use  for.    If  the  book  is  a  library  book,  which 
you  cannot  mark,  make  more  careful  notes  of  the  pas- 
sages you  care  for,  with  reference  to  volume  and  page. 


440  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

Preferably,  if  you  can,  copy  out  important  passages  in 
full  at  once. 

(6)  Write,  during  your  reading,  everything  that  oc- 
curs to  you  that 's  not  in  the  book.    This  is  the  most  im- 
portant matter  you  will  have,  because  it  is  your  own,  and 
not  the  author 's.    So  you  may  combine  original  thought 
with  study.     If  you  agree  with  the  author  for  some 
reason  which  he  has  not  stated,  write  that.    If  you  differ 
with  him,  write  that,  and  why;  put  your  objections  in 
shape.     Make  them  clear  to  yourself.     If  you  doubt 
anything  the  author  states,,  write  a  query,  with  a  big 
question  mark,  so  that  you  may  look  up  that  matter 
later. 

Sometimes,  when  in  haste,  write  a  few  vigorous  words 
to  preserve  the  idea.  But  when  some  thought  is  clear 
and  vivid  to  you,  write  it  down  in  the  very  words  that 
come  at  the  instant.  Those  are  likely  to  be  the  most 
live,  apt,  and  vigorous  you  will  ever  reach  on  that 
thought.  At  that  moment  the  idea  is  new-born,  and  the 
expression  is  alive.  Any  after-statement  will  be  manu- 
factured. 

In  all  this  preliminary  gathering,  do  not  bother  about 
the  order.  Put  your  ideas  and  discoveries  in  just  as 
you  catch  them,  as  a  fisherman  puts  fishes  in  a  creel,  so 
that  they  shall  not  slip  away  while  you  are  after  more. 

(7)  Review  your  gathered  material  from  time  to  time. 
—Refresh  your  memory.     Size  up  the  matter  already 
obtained.    What  you  see  to  be  of  chief  importance  mark 
with  vertical  line  in  the  margin  of  your  note-book ;  and 
you  may  vary  the  degrees  of  importance  by  using  now 
one  line,  now  two,  and  again  three  for  the  very  highest. 
As  you  find  answers  to  your  queries,  strike  out  the 
question  mark,  or  write  out  the  answer,  referring  to 
author,  volume,  and  page  where  found.     If  you  use 


CONSTRUCTIVE    LITERARY   WORK       441 

clippings,  make  a  memorandum  of  any  one  you  care  to 
quote  in  connection  with  the  topic  to  which  it  applies. 

(8)  Trust  much  to  unconscious  cerebration,  or  what 
is  often  called  the  subconscious  mind.    There  is  a  mys- 
tery here,  but  it  is  a  fact  that  a  thought  once  started 
in  the  mind,  if  let  entirely  alone,  will,  after  some  hours 
or  days — perhaps  after  a  night's  rest — be  found  to  have 
gained  clearness  and  power.     Somehow  all  you  have 
ever  thought  or  known  gathers  round  that  idea  once 
committed  to  the  mind.     The  most  unthought-of  things 
illustrate  it.     The  most  opposite  things  have  one  side 
to  match  it,  or  else  shed  light  upon  it  by  negation  or 
contrast.     The  slumbering  idea  is  like  money  in  a  sav- 
ings bank,  gathering  interest  while  you  work  or  sleep, 
so  that  you  take  out  more  than  you  put  in. 

Not  only  does  the  mind  unconsciously  think  things 
through,  but  it  carries  on  a  constant  process  of  un- 
conscious selection,  associating  ideas  in  groups,  so  that 
relations  are  seen  which  were  not  at  first  perceived. 
Thus  at  any  moment  in  your  gathering  of  material  the 
plan  may  develop  itself  out  of  the  mixed  mass.  The 
material  begins  to  divide  itself  off  in  strata.  You  see 
what  is  most  important,  what  is  subsidiary,  and  what 
is  negligible.  You  grasp  at  least  a  partial  order  of 
thoughts,  which  you  can  mark  off  as  one,  two,  three, 
etc.  From  that  moment  your  gathering  of  materials 
will  be  more  systematic.  You  know  where  to  bestow 
new  material,  along  which  lines  to  work,  what  most 
needs  following  up,  what  is  worthy  of  most  labor. 

(9)  Cease  Gathering. — You  carry  on  this  gathering 
process  until, 

(a)  Yon  have  gathered  all  you  know  how  to  collect, 
or  all  that  you  see  that  you  can  profitably  use.  That 
is  for  you — at  present — all  there  is.  Then  the  sooner 


442  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

you  write  the  better,  before  the  matter  gets  cold  and 
your  interest  dies; — or 

(b)  Until  the  time  comes  when  you  must  write,  in 
order  to  get  the  work  done,  if  not  as  you  would,  yet  as 
you  can. 

For  one  reason  or  the  other,  either  from  choice  or 
necessity,  you  have  reached  the  end  of  your  gathering 
time.  Now  determine  your  plan.  Look  over  your  ma- 
terial, and  decide  what  is  the  very  chief  thing  which 
you  want  most  to  impress  upon  your  hearers  or  readers. 
That  should  come  at,  or  very  near  your  conclusion. 
Everything  else  must  lead  up  to  that,  establish  that. 

Now  the  order  of  propositions  almost  settles  itself. 
You  have  only  to  lay  out  the  road  for  reaching  an  ascer- 
tained goal.  Which  propositions  lead  up  to  others? 
Which  naturally  follow  from  others?  Let  these  come 
into  your  composition  in  the  natural  order  of  thought. 

Select  these  out  of  your  notes,  with  the  natural  sub- 
divisions that  you  will  find  there,  and,  fast  as  you  use 
them  for  your  plan,  mark  them  out  of  your  notes,  with 
a  plain  stroke  that  will  cancel,  but  not  obliterate,  as 
you  may  wish  to  glance  at  them  again.  Then  run  back 
over  the  mass,  and  see  if  there  is  anything  yet  unmarked 
that  is  still  desirable  and  available  now.  You  will  prob- 
ably find  many  good  things  that  you  must  pass  by, 
either  because  you  have  not  room  for  them,  or  because 
they  would  lead  off  from  the  main  subject,  and  break 
the  current  of  thought. 

By  this  time  you  have  a  tentative  plan,  which  may, 
however,  require  some  readjustment.  We  are  pro- 
foundly skeptical  of  the  perfect  plans  given  in  the 
books  with  I,  II,  III;  1,  2,  3;  (1),  (2),  (3)  ;  (a),  (b), 
(c),  etc.  We  obstinately  believe  that  the  entire  work 
grew  first,  and  that  this  neatly  articulated  skeleton  was 


CONSTRUCTIVE    LITERARY   WORK       443 

afterward  dissected  out.  The  average  person  will  reach 
an  orderly  and  connected  plan  only  by  much  review  and 
reconsideration.  To  secure  such  readjustment  of  plan 
as  will  commonly  be  found  desirable,  one  obvious  method 
is  to  write  the  theme  at  the  head  of  a  sheet,  and  then 
to  write  under  it,  in  the  best  order  you  can  at  first  see, 
the  various  heads  of  the  plan  contemplated.  Write  each 
heading  in  the  fewest  possible  words  that  will  give  the 
gist  of  the  thought.  You  can  compare  them,  not  only 
more  swiftly,  but  more  surely,  if  each  is  a  brief,  swift 
suggestion,  rather  than  an  extended  statement.  Then 
it  is  easy  to  note  any  rearrangement  that  may  seem  de- 
sirable, and  to  recopy  the  whole  scheme  when  complete. 

In  the  readjustment  watch  to  see  whether  any  item 
includes  another  or  any  part  of  another,  and,  if  so, 
unite  or  closely  combine  those  which  belong  together. 
If  one  item  depends  upon  some  other,  connect  them  so 
that  the  true  relation  will  be  shown.  Also  study  whether 
any  more  clear,  forcible,  and  effective  form  of  state- 
ment can  be  found  for  each  topic  than  that  at  first 
suggested. 

The  method  just  sketched  has  been  used  time  out  of 
mind,  and  found  practical  and  efficient,  though  some- 
what laborious.  Now  rhetoric  has  adopted  the  modern 
device  of  the  "card  index,"  and  found  it  very  useful 
and  helpful.  Of  this  Professor  Wendell  says: 

"In  my  teaching  I  have  found  one  purely  mechanical  de- 
vice of  much  value  here.  Whatever  our  object,  whatever  kind 
of  writing  we  undertake,  and  on  whatever  scale,  our  work 
must  inevitably  divide  itself  into  certain  separate  parts. 
.  .  .  What  shall  these  parts  be?  is  the  question;  in  what 
order  shall  they  be  arranged  ?  The  simplest  way  I  have  found 
of  answering  these  questions  is  this :  On  separate  slips  of 
paper — cards,  if  they  be  at  hand — I  write  down  the  separate 
headings  that  occur  to  me.  in  what  seems  to  me  the  natural 


444  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

order.  Then,  when  my  little  pack  of  cards  is  complete — I 
study  them  and  sort  them  almost  as  deliberately  as  I  should 
a  hand  at  whist;  and  it  has  very  rarely  been  my  experience 
to  find  that  a  shift  of  arrangement  will  not  decidedly  im- 
prove the  original  order.  ...  A  few  minutes'  shuffling  of 
these  little  cards  has  often  revealed  to  me  more  than  I 
should  have  learned  by  hours  of  unaided  pondering."  * 

If  this  latter  method  is  adopted,  it  will  probably  be 
found  desirable  to  copy  the  entire  plan,  in  the  form 
finally  decided  upon,  on  a  single  sheet  or  series  of 
sheets,  so  that  all  may  be  brought  swiftly  and  connect- 
edly Binder  the  eye,  and  be  viewed  as  a  whole,  yet  with 
due  recognition  of  its  various  subdivisions.  Any  method 
is  good  by  which  this  purpose  is  accomplished.  Inci- 
dentally, it  is  well  to  note  briefly  the  space  and  em- 
phasis to  be  assigned  to  each  topic,  as  well  as  you  can 
judge  in  advance. 

The  theme  has  been  chosen,  the  plan  systematized. 
Now  comes  the  work  of  expressing  in  full  what  the  plan 
has  but  sketched  in  outline.  It  is  as  when  the  frame 
of  a  building  has  been  set  up,  but  there  still  remains 
the  task  of  enclosing  it  with  roof  and  sides,  and  placing 
windows  and  doors  affording  light  and  communication 
for  the  sake  of  those  who  are  to  occupy  it,  and  whatever 
may  be  of  ornament  for  those  who  are  to  look  upon  it. 
Without  this  enclosing,  the  frame  might  stand  empty 
and  useless  till  it  fell  in  ruin. 

That  enclosing  is  now  your  job.  Your  plan  tells  you 
where  you  are  to  start,  whither  you  are  going,  and  how 
to  get  there.  You  do  not  have  to  deliberate  about  all 
that.  Your  gathered  material  is  ready  at  your  hand  to 
draw  upon.  Now,  what  shall  you  do? 


"English  Composition,"  Ch.  v,  p.  164. 


CONSTRUCTIVE    LITERARY   WORK       445 

1.  Start. — Begin  with  the  first  item  of  your  plan.    Do 
not  bother  about  a  prefatory  "introduction"  to  be  put 
in  place  of  what  you  want  to  say.    If  a  preface  should 
prove  to  be  desirable,  you  can  write  it  after  the  main 
work  is  done,  as  Cicero  wrote  all  his  introductions.    The 
question  now  is,  what  have  you  to  say  under  the  first 
division  of  your  plan,  and  how  are  you  to  say  it  ? 

Begin  writing  on  that  somehow.  Even  if  not  your 
best,  if  not  what  the  subject  deserves,  even  if  you  should 
ultimately  discard  it,  this  initiatory  writing  will  have 
its  use.  There  is  a  mental,  as  there  is  a  physical,  inertia, 
which  is  only  broken  by  action,  and  the  act  of  writing 
is  action.  To  that  extent  the  mind  is  stirred,  and  like 
a  moving  body,  it  rapidly  becomes  capable  of  increasing 
velocity.  The  preliminary  canter  of  the  race-horse  gets 
him  nowhere,  but  it  does  put  his  muscles  in  responsive 
condition  for  the  race.  Then,  too,  words  crystallize 
thought.  They  become  material  entities  outside  the  mind. 
That  which  has  floated  in  a  nebulous  haze  in  the  mental 
spaces  is  made  to  take  concrete  form.  If  the  written 
wrords  seem  feeble  and  cold,  they  often  react  as  a  spur 
to  the  mind.  You  challenge  yourself  with  the  question, 
' '  Is  that  the  best  I  can  do  on  such  a  subject  ?  Is  that  all 
it  means  to  me?"  Then  the  mind  bestirs  itself  in  re- 
sponse, and  rouses  its  latent  energies.  So  the  whole  dis- 
course will  be  better  for  the  writing  that  may  go  into 
the  waste-basket.  You  have  begun.  You  are  alive, — at 
Avork. 

2.  Make  the  Start  Interesting. — Some  of  the  books  will 
tell  you  to  make  it  pleasing.    But  this  is  too  narrow  a 
rule.     For  many  occasions,  it  is  indeed,  important  to 
please  at  the  outset.     There  are  other  occasions  when 
pleasing  is  not  a  consideration.    We  have  had  too  much 
of  ' '  Smile  into  the  telephone. "    It  is  far  more  important 


446  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

to  speak  distinctly.  The  "cheerful  idiot"  has  been  pro- 
moted to  the  high  places,  and  his  demeanor  has  been 
aped  by  those  capable  of  better  things.  At  times  a  smile 
is  simply  exasperating, — when  we  want  a  deed  and  get  a 
smirk.  Earnestness  is  often  worth  infinitely  more  than 
cheerfulness. 

When  a  financial  panic  holds  the  nation  in  its  grip, 
bringing  disaster  and  suffering  into  every  home,  pleas- 
ing words  are  but  empty  and  irritating  platitudes.  When 
some  pressing  matter  of  public  interest,  as  of  peace  or 
war,  is  calling  for  decision,  no  one  wants  to  be  amused 
or  cajoled.  When  the  news  of  Lincoln's  death  had  been 
just  received,  no  oration  or  writing  on  that  event  had 
any  space  for  pleasing.  The  key  of  utterance  then  was 
rather  the  opening  of  David's  Lament  over  Saul  and 
Jonathan : 

"The  beauty  of  Israel  is  slain  upon  our  high  places.  How 
are  the  mighty  fallen!" 

But  things  that  have  no  element  of  pleasing  are  vividly 
interesting  when  they  meet  the  immediate  demand.  A 
sense  of  the  situation,  a  prevision  of  popular  demand, 
will  tell  the  speaker  or  writer  what  is  fitting,  and  what 
is  fitting  will  always  be  interesting.  Often  the  most 
surely  interesting  thing  to  begin  with  is  that  thing  which 
you  yourself  most  want  to  say  first. 

3.  Keep  the  Assigned  Proportion  of  Space  as  Nearly 
as  Practicable. — In  your  plan  you  have  settled  approxi- 
mately how  much  you  can  allow  to  each  topic.  If  the 
opening  thought  grows  upon  you,  and  many  ideas  or 
illustrations  occur  to  you  far  in  excess  of  the  allotted 
space,  cut  out  the  excess,  however  good.  Nothing  is  bet- 
ter for  any  speech  or  writing  than  a  crowding  of  thoughts 
beyond  the  spoken  or  written  words.  By  those  unuttered 


CONSTRUCTIVE    LITERARY   WORK       £47 

thoughts  the  actual  utterance  gains  the  effect  of  reserved 
power — the  suggestive  style. 

Yet  this  decreed  proportion  of  space  can  be  but  ap- 
proximate. We  do  not  credit  any  human  being  with 
anticipatory  omniscience  that  can  lay  out  the  future 
beyond  contingency.  For  a  thirty-minute  paper  you 
know  that  you  cannot  allow  a  ten-minute  introduction. 
You  have  assigned  three  minutes.  But  that  opening 
portion  grows  upon  you.  You  see  an  apt  and  telling 
illustration  that  will  extend  it  to  five  minutes.  It  may 
then  be  well  to  give  that  needed  expansion,  if  the  rest 
of  the  work  will  possibly  permit.  If  in  the  advance  of 
your  work  it  becomes  clear  that  certain  sections  require 
for  adequate  development  more  space  than  at  first  as- 
signed, you  may  sometimes  do  well  to  omit  some  whole 
section  which  is  good,  but  not  essential,  so  that  those  you 
retain  may  have  their  full  and  adequate  power.  In  the 
complete  expression  you  are  nearer  to  each  topic  than  in 
your  preliminary  plan.  Your  concentration  on  that  item 
has  made  you  understand  it  better,  and  see  more  clearly 
its  relations,  so  that  the  complete  expression  often  reacts 
upon  the  plan  with  helpful  change.  Thus  no  writing  is 
done  until  it  is  finished.  The  very  plan  must  be  held 
flexible  enough  to  be  modified,  if  need  be,  in  the  final 
expression. 

4.  Regulate  the  Proportion  of  Force. — If  you  put  your 
utmost  power  of  expression  into  your  opening,  you  have 
destroyed  the  possibility  of  progress  and  climax,  for 
beyond  your  utmost  you  cannot  rise.  In  fact  you  are 
sure  to  fall  below  it.  The  schoolboy  springs  upon  the 
platform  with  a  shout, 

"Aye,  tear  her  tattered  ensign  down!" — 
and  so  rushes  through  the  poem,  and  when  he  reaches 


448  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

the  climax,  he  has  no  more  force  to  add.  He  has  not  so 
much  as  at  first,  for  he  is  tired  now.  So  he  finishes  in 
a  breathless  gasp, 

"Nail  to  the  mast  her  holy  flag! 

Set  every  threadbare  sail, 
And  give  her  to  the  god  of  storms, 
The  lightning  and  the  gale!" 

No  mind  can  endure  indefinitely  the  strain  of  its 
own  utmost  exertion.  Weariness  will  make  it  flag,  and 
the  decline  comes  where  advance  is  needed  most. 

If,  indeed,  as  sometimes  happens,  your  opening  utter- 
ance or  some  later  portion  comes  upon  you  with  an  ex- 
uberant rush  of  thought  and  eager  words,  you  may  do 
well  to  let  it  have  its  way.  Enthusiasm  is  precious  and 
we  may  do  ill  to  chill  it  with  a  wet  blanket  of  precaution. 
Later,  in  the  revision,  you  may  tone  it  down  so  much  as 
may  be  needed.  Or,  you  may  find,  on  the  contrary,  that 
the  opening  paragraphs,  when  you  were  struggling  to 
break  somehow  into  your  subject,  are  cold  and  dull,  and 
you  may  need  to  electrify  them  by  the  touch  of  what  you 
now  feel  to  be  the  true  power  of  your  theme.  Harmony 
is  best  found  in  final  review  of  all. 

5.  Treat  Each  Topic  as  a  Little  Theme. — For  your 
immediate  purpose  it  stands  alone.  It  must  have  a  unity 
of  its  own,  and  a  definite  relation  of  its  own  to  some 
interest  of  those  addressed.  It  must  have  also  the  rhetor- 
ical merit  of  exclusion, — to  include  all  that  is  to  be  said 
on  that  topic  and  to  exclude  everything  else.  Limit 
your  horizon  for  the  moment  to  the  topic  in  hand.  Some 
item  that  is  to  be  considered  later  might  add  vividness 
to  your  opening.  But  if  you  use  it  there,  you  have 
killed  it.  If  you  take  it  up  later,  it  will  seem  an  old 
story.  If  you  really  want  that  thought  later,  cut  it  reso- 


CONSTRUCTIVE    LITERARY   WORK       449 

lutely  out  of  your  opening.  So  with  every  subsequent 
item. 

Yet,  while  perfecting  this  division  for  itself,  the  author 
must  see,  with  constantly  recurrent  glance,  the  relation 
of  this  subordinate  portion  to  all  that  has  gone  before 
and  to  all  that  is  to  follow.  The  whole  production  is  to 
be  essentially  one. 

6.  Power  and  Limit  of  the  Paragraph. — We  are  in 
the  age  of  the  apotheosis  of  the  paragraph.  It  is  found 
exceedingly  convenient  in  school  exercises,  since  it  can 
ordinarily  be  written  within  half  an  hour,  and  corrected 
in  much  less  time,  besides  being  a  very  effectual  check 
upon  the  loquacity  that  often  mars  longer  compositions. 
Also,  the  "independent  paragraph"  is  favored  by  many 
newspapers,  as  arresting  the  attention  of  those  who  will 
read  only  by  snatches.  Then  logic  comes  in,  and  tells  us 
that  the  paragraph  is  made  up  of  sentences,  and  the 
entire  composition  is  made  up  of  paragraphs,  the  infer- 
ence being  that  you  may  construct  sentence  after  sen- 
tence till  the  paragraph  is  attained,  then  paragraph  after 
paragraph  until  the  entire  composition  is  done. 

The  tendency  of  this  teaching  is  to  concentrate  undue 
attention  upon  fractional  units  of  composition.  In  writ- 
ings constructed  on  this  system,  you  will  find  many  a 
beautiful  paragraph,  almost  or  quite  a  gem  by  itself, 
but  set  into  the  writing  like  a  piece  of  choice  inlaid  work 
in  an  elegant  table,  while  the  body  of  the  discourse  seems 
but  like  the  plain  wood  which  binds  these  insertions  to- 
gether. The  best  work  can  not  be  so  done. 

As  well  argue  that  a  building  is  made  of  brick  or  stone, 
and  you  have  only  to  lay  one  brick  or  stone  on  another 
till  you  reach  the  top,  when  your  building  is  done.  No 
architect  is  a  mere  bricklayer.  He  sees  the  building 
whole  before  the  very  foundation  is  laid,  and  each  brick 


450  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

or  stone  is  but  an  incident  in  the  completion  of  his  com- 
prehensive scheme.  We  do  not  believe  that  any  master- 
piece of  literature  or  any  speech  or  writing  that  has 
deeply  moved  the  souls  of  men  was  ever  constructed  by 
piecing  paragraphs  together.  In  a  stirring  production 
like  Macaulay's  essay  on  Milton,  the  impetus  of  the 
whole  composition  so  sweeps  through  the  paragraph  that 
one  is  scarcely  aware  of  it  as  a  separate  entity,  and  only 
finds  it  such  upon  careful  rereading. 

Completeness  can  seldom  be  attained  in  a  paragraph 
that  forms  part  of  a  continuous  discourse ;  nor  is  it  often 
desirable,  because  the  connected  paragraph  should  look 
forward  and  backward,  keeping  the  reader  or  hearer 
interested  in  what  has  already  been  said,  and  in  what 
is  yet  to  come.  But  the  connected  paragraph  should 
have  a  completeness  of  its  own — the  completeness  of  one 
link  of  a  chain,  able  to  join  with  and  sustain  all  that 
precedes  and  all  that  follows,  while  also  able  to  sustain 
fully  its  own  part  of  the  weight.  "Within  itself  the  same 
general  laws  hold  for  the  paragraph  as  for  the  whole 
composition.  It  must  be  governed  by  one  prevailing 
thought,  and  it  must  so  far  complete  that  thought  that 
no  other  paragraph  shall  need  to  return  over  that  topic ; 
but  its  completeness  is  not  within  and  for  itself.  It  is 
part  of  the  forward  movement  of  the  whole  discourse, 
but  its  range  of  view  is  shorter.  The  bicyclist  rushing 
at  speed,  or  the  horseman  riding  at  a  gallop,  catches, 
indeed,  the  far  vista  of  the  landscape,  but  closely  notes 
at  each  instant  only  a  space  about  twenty  feet  ahead. 
That  is  the  paragraph. 

7.  Seek  the  Glow  of  Composition. — One  who  has  a 
fitly  chosen  theme  and  a  well-defined  plan,  will  find  in 
the  complete  expression  that  the  work  grows  under  his 
hand.  You  are  nearer  to  it  now.  Your  attention  is  more 


CONSTRUCTIVE    LITERARY   WORK       451 

minutely  concentrated  on  each  successive  item,  as  you 
take  it  up  in  turn.  You  are  seeing  it,  not  in  far  per- 
spective, but  with  a  shorter  focus,  as  a  matter  of  present 
interest  by  and  for  itself.  Your  thoughts  become  more 
vivid  as  you  express  them  in  concrete  form.  Our  words 
react  upon  ourselves,  so  that  one  can  make  himself 
angry  or  considerate  by  the  form  of  utterance  in  which 
he  expresses  hie  emotion.  As  your  attention  is  closely 
fixed  upon  one  unit  you  see  more  clearly  what  it  involves. 
You  think  of  illustrations  to  be  used,  of  difficulties  to 
be  avoided  or  met,  of  contrasts  and  relations  before  un- 
perceived.  You  have  set  in  action  the  mighty  law  of 
association  of  thought.  We  all  know  how  much  associa- 
tion can  do  to  hinder.  A  story  or  a  joke  that  will  not 
go  out  of  the  mind,  a  tune  played  by  a  hand-organ  on 
the  street,  may  for  a  time  disorder  one's  finest  thinking. 
It  is  for  the  writer  to  turn  the  laws  of  association  into 
a  mighty  and  beneficent  ministry.  You  begin  to  see 
rapidly  and  instinctively  other  thoughts  that  naturally 
join  with  the  one  immediately  under  consideration. 
Often  suggestions  that  you  can  not  use  instantly,  but 
may  avail  yourself  of  later,  so  crowd  upon  the  mind 
that  the  writer  needs,  as  Quintilian  said  long  ago,  to 
keep  loose  sheets  of  paper  close  to  his  hand,  to  note  with 
flying  abruptness  these  visiting  fairies  of  reason  and 
fancy,  sometimes  writing  merely  a  few  key-words  that 
may  act  as  a  charm  to  call  them  back  when  he  has  time 
to  entertain  them,  and  make  for  them  a  permanent  home 
of  fitting  phrase.  At  one  moment  the  sweep  of  associa- 
tion will  flash  upon  you  a  simile  that  will  explain  more 
clearly  what  you  would  express,  and  perhaps  be  also  for 
its  own  sake  a  thing  of  beauty.  Again  comes  a  vivid 
metaphor  that  will  impress  the  thought  more  deeply. 
At  another  moment  a  sharp  contrast  appears,  giving 


452  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

the  vigor  of  antithesis.  Yet  again  one  feels  by  antici- 
pation such  harmony  of  view  with  hearers  or  readers 
that  he  can  turn  a  statement  into  a  question,  "Do  you 
believe  this?"  "Would  you  do  that?"  evoking  the  con- 
clusion from  the  minds  of  those  addressed,  instead  of 
urging  it  upon  them  as  his  own.  Sometimes  the  develop- 
ment of  thought  wiD.  be  by  drawing  out  from  the  gen- 
eral statement  a  particular  instance  which  the  reader 
or  hearer  may  more  fully  apprehend,  and  in  which  his 
feelings  may  be  more  deeply  interested,  and  with  this 
the  adding  of  descriptive  details,  by  which  what  was  a 
mere  fact  becomes  a  vivid  picture.  All  the  devices  of 
rhetoric  become  instinctive  with  the  writer  when  his  sub- 
ject possesses  him,  and  he  concentrates  all  the  powers  of 
his  mind  upon  its  fullest  and  best  expression. 

In  such  expression  use  at  every  point  the  very  best 
thought  you  have.  Do  not  try  to  save  it  over  as  too 
good  for  the  occasion.  If  you  do  that,  the  choice  thought 
will  be  like  the  manna  of  the  Israelites,  which  spoiled 
if  they  tried  to  keep  it  over  night,  while  if  they  trust- 
fully used  it,  they  would  find  on  the  coming  day  the 
whole  face  of  the  wilderness  covered  with  new  material 
like  morning  dew.  There  is  always  something  better 
to  be  said  than  has  yet  been  uttered.  Using  the  best 
thought  you  have  up  to  this  moment  puts  the  mind  in 
condition  to  reach  out  for  more  and  better.  The  very 
vacuum  you  create  will  suck  in  fresh  supplies  from  all 
the  waiting  universe. 

8.  Provide  Transitions. — Advance  of  thought  involves 
change.  As  you  pass  from  point  to  point,  sometimes  even 
from  sentence  to  sentence  or  from  paragraph  to  para- 
graph, shall  those  changes  be  unheralded?  Often  they 
may  well  be.  Hearers  and  readers  have  more  capacity 
of  memory  and  swift  inference  than  those  who  address 


CONSTRUCTIVE    LITERARY   WORK       453 

them  give  them  credit  for.  And  they  love  the  exercise 
of  their  wits  in  keeping  up  with  a  vigorous  style,  even 
when  at  times  abrupt.  But  a  break  that  is  rude  and 
harsh,  and  that  seems  aimless,  is  a  blemish  to  style. 
Some  well-devised  phrase,  sentence,  or  paragraph,  look- 
ing back  and  pointing  on,  may  often  save  a  style  from 
jerkiness  and  rudeness  without  in  the  least  impairing 
its  vigor.  But  in  the  process  of  writing  one  should  not 
worry  too  much  about  getting  from  one  point  to  another. 
The  main  thing  is  to  get  on.  The  new  forward  step  is 
clear  to  you,  and  you  are  eager  to  advance.  Go  forward. 
That  fervor  of  thought  may  be  deadened  beyond  recov- 
ery while  you  are  constructing  an  elegant  approach  to 
it.  Trust  to  your  own  knowledge  that  there  is  connec- 
tion, and  express  the  thought  while  it  is  vivid  and  clear. 
Then,  at  more  leisure,  you  may  express  the  connection. 

9.  Revise  for  Perfection. — That  revision  is  important 
need  not  be  urged.  Rarely,  indeed,  is  anything  so  well 
said  or  written  that  the  author  himself  can  not  better  it 
by  attentive  review.  The  point  to  be  made  here  is  that 
revision  should  be  depended  on  for  all  final  approach 
toward  perfection.  The  best  writing  is  never  done  under 
a  microscope.  Progress  is  not  made  by  the  car  that  must 
be  constantly  stopped  for  repairs.  In  your  original 
draft  you  will  constantly  seek  to  use  the  best  and  most 
fitting  words.  You  will  often  struggle  to  catch  some 
word  or  phrase  of  which  you  are  dimly  aware,  but  which 
seems  to  be  eluding  you.  That  is  helpful.  But  sup- 
pose, as  has  already  been  suggested,  it  still  eludes 
you,  and  you  must  search  dictionaries,  or  books  of 
synonyms  to  find  it.  That  is  asking  too  much.  The 
thought  you  have  in  mind  will  be  growing  cold, 
while  you  are  capturing  a  word  by  which  to  express  it. 
Do  not  stay  for  it.  Put  some  Warning  mark  over  or 


454  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

under  the  inadequate  word  you  now  think  of,  and  go  on. 
Or  you  see  that  you  need  to  verify  a  fact,  a  name  or 
a  date.  But  to  do  that  you  must  search  an  encyclopedia, 
or  even  go  to  the  library.  Meanwhile  the  thoughts  that 
are  crowding  upon  you  now  will  have  faded  from  con- 
sciousness, and  you  may  even  start  some  inharmonious 
or  misleading  lines  of  association.  The  finest  thoughts 
are  commonly  the  most  ethereal,  and  will  vanish  into 
thin  air  while  the  author  is  painfully  hammering  out 
some  prosaic  verification  of  items.  That  verifying  can 
wait.  Set  up  a  warning  signal  by  a  mark  in  the  margin, 
and  put  your  soul  into  the  thought  to  be  expressed  now. 

Again,  it  is  beyond  doubt  that  you  should  make  every 
sentence  clear  and  correct,  and  you  find  you  have 
achieved  one  that  is  awkward.  Very  well.  There  is  but 
one  question:  Can  the  idea  you  want  be  found  in  that 
deformed  sentence?  If  so,  check  that  sentence  in  the 
margin  for  correction  of  form,  and  move  forward  to  the 
next.  The  rules  of  grammar  will  be  the  same  to-morrow 
or  next  week,  and  you  can  then  hew  and  pulverize  and 
reconstruct  that  sentence  at  pleasure.  Just  now  get  the 
next  thing  said.  Or,  still  again  you  see  that  some  com- 
parison might  be  more  beautifully  expressed,  and  beauty 
is  worth  study.  Adornment  is  important.  But  it  is 
more  important  to  have  something  to  adorn.  If  you 
make  the  essentials  of  your  thought  strong  and  clear  in 
your  first  writing,  you  can  carve  and  polish  the  orna- 
ments at  pleasure  in  your  revision.  In  constructive 
work  depend  upon  revision  to  bear  its  own  part  of  the 
burden. 

Revision  is  best  effected  after  an  interval — long  enough 
to  enable  the  mind  to  return  with  fresh  outlook — not 
long  enough  to  allow  suggestions  to  be  chilled  and  out- 
lines to  fade.  The  lapse  of  twenty-four  hours  is  a  good 


CONSTRUCTIVE    LITERARY   WORK       455 

and  frequently  available  interval.  Of  course,  actual 
conditions  may  defeat  the  ideal.  Much  newspaper  work 
is  printed  without  even  rereading.  Revision  itself  must 
often  be  hurried.  Still  the  ideal  holds,  that  where  one 
may  expect  reasonable  opportunity  to  revise,  the  original 
composition  should  concern  itself  chiefly  with  substance 
of  thought,  while  subordinate  matters  of  correctness  and 
many  graces  of  style  may  be  trusted  to  thoughtful  re- 
vision. 

Is  the  method  above  sketched  offered  as  the  one  infal- 
lible system  by  which  any  one  can  produce  able  and  suc- 
cessful work  at  will,  and  without  which  he  can  not  pro- 
duce it  at  all  ?  By  no  means.  On  the  contrary,  nothing 
is  more  notable  than  the  strong  individuality  of  all  fore- 
most orators  and  authors.  Let  any  gifted  literary  worker 
detail  his  method,  and  probably  the  first  remark  made 
by  any  other  of  the  craft  will  be,  "That  would  not  do 
for  me,"  or  "I  never  could  work  in  that  way."  One 
has  gathered  his  material  from  the  unstudied  experiences 
of  life,  so  that  his  very  theme  is  evolved  from  his  wait- 
ing, heaped-up  stores.  Another  trusts,  and  can  safely 
trust,  to  the  development  of  his  plan  from  point  to  point, 
as  his  work  advances — though  this  is  rare.  Such  a 
writer  would  say  that  his  plan  ' '  comes  to  him. ' '  by  some 
sure  instinct,  which  he  has  never  defined,  but  which  is 
for  him  sufficient.  So,  in  numberless  ways  will  be  found 
something  in  the  individual  that  does  not  take  kindly 
to  an  alien  scheme.  No  rhetorical  teacher  ever  made 
an  author  or  an  orator  of  a  pupil  who  was  not  poten- 
tially one  already. 

What  then?  Is  all  instruction,  are  all  schemes  use- 
less? All  the  mechanics  of  the  world  could  not  have 
made  Edison.  Yet  Edison  is  using  every  hour  mechan- 
ical laws  and  methods  wrought  out  by  men  who  could 


456  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

not  do  hm  work.  These  have  become  so  truly  "second 
nature"  to  him  that  he  avails  himself  of  them  without 
a  conscious  thought.  In  substance  the  rhetorical  scheme 
is  one  for  all  the  world's  literary  workers.  A  theme 
there  must  be,  whether  evolved  from  the  material,  or 
chosen  antecedently  to  all  collection  of  data.  Material 
there  must  be,  whether  accumulated  by  the  toils  and  the 
very  accidents  of  life,  or  patiently  elaborated  for  the 
special  occasion.  A  plan  must  be  formed,  whether 
evolved  laboriously  or  almost  unconsciously,  if  the  work 
is  to  have  any  consistency  and  coherence.  The  complete 
expression  must  conform  to  certain  laws  of  expression, 
or  be  a  failure : — not  because  those  laws  make  the  expres- 
sion, but  because  they  have  been  found  to  control  the 
best  of  all  that  man  has  done  by  voice  or  pen.  Ordina- 
rily one  will  move  most  freely  and  effectively  according 
to  his  own  individual  bent  who  knows  the  laws  that  have 
aided  others,  and  the  places  where  he  must  not  step  off. 
The  theme,  the  plan,  the  gathered  material,  and  the 
essential  laws  governing  the  complete  expression  will  be 
the  very  means  of  setting  his  own  individuality  free, 
and  of  enabling  him  in  his  own  way  to  do  his  own  very 
best.  No  one  is  so  little  the  slave  of  rules  and  laws  as 
the  one  who  has  thoroughly  mastered  them. 


CHAPTER   XX 

LIFE   THE    SUPREME    ACHIEVEMENT 

Beyond  invention,  beyond  accumulated  information, 
beyond  constructive  method,  beyond  all  that  art  can  do, 
remains  one  requirement  surpassing  all.  There  may  be 
found  many  an  oration,  many  a  piece  of  literature  so 
elegant,  so  perfectly  fashioned  according  to  all  rhetorical 
rules,  that  it  is  referred  to  as  a  model  of  style,  while  yet 
it  does  not  take  hold,  and  never  has  taken  hold,  of  the 
heart  of  man,  but  stands  in  cold  statuesque  beauty  on 
library  shelves,  visited  only  by  the  researchful  scholar. 
What  ails  a  thing  so  fine?  It  has  almost  every  excel- 
lence. It  has  the  very  appearance  of  life.  Yes,  but  it 
has  not  life : — and  for  the  want  of  life  nothing  can  com- 
pensate. 

As  you  read  any  mere  "plan"  of  discourse,  however 
perfect,  you  can  not  escape  the  feeling  that  it  is  dry  and 
dead.  It  is  well  called  a  "  skeleton. "  The  skeleton  holds 
important  place  and  does  indispensable  service  in  the 
human  organism,  but  all  our  direct  interest  in  it  is  when 
it  is  not  only  covered  by  the  rounded  form,  but  animated 
by  the  energy  and  the  eager  activity  of  life. 

In  the  ancient  prophetic  vision,  the  seer  prophesied  to 
the  dry  bones  in  the  valley  of  slaughter  with  wonderful 
effect.  There  was  "a  shaking,  and  the  bones  came  to- 
gether, bone  to  his  bone" — perfected  skeletons.  There 
was  even  a  fuller  result ;  ' '  the  sinews  and  the  flesh  came 

457 


458  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

up  upon  them,  and  the  skin  covered  them  above," — the 
complete  expression  of  the  forms  of  life, — "but  there 
was  no  breath  in  them. ' '  Then  came  the  message, ' '  Come 
from  the  four  winds,  O  breath,  and  breathe  upon  these 
slain  that  they  may  live. ' '  In  response  to  that  summons, 
"the  breath  came  into  them,  and  they  lived,  and  stood 
up  upon  their  feet,  an  exceeding  great  army. ' '  Were  it 
but  possible  for  us  now  so  to  arouse  some  dead  rhetorical 
perfection  into  life! 

But  no  miracle-working  power  is  given  us.  All  the 
skill  of  our  boasted  modern  science  can  not  build  a 
tree.  We  could  fashion  one  in  perfect  outward  sem- 
blance from  the  rounded  trunk  through  the  arching 
branches  to  the  tiniest  twig.  We  could  cover  it  with  so 
fine  an  Imitation  of  bark,  leaves,  and  even  blossoms  or 
fruit,  that  the  unaided  eye  could  not  detect  the  differ- 
ence. We  could  set  it  up  so  that  it  would  stand  proudly 
in  its  appointed  place.  But,  after  all,  it  would  be  but  a 
statue  of  a  tree,  an  elegantly  fashioned  and  carven  post. 
The  showers  and  sunshine  of  spring,  the  heat  of  summer, 
could  not  call  out  one  leafy  spray  from  its  perfectly 
fashioned  boughs.  It  lacks  that  incommunicable,  inef- 
fable, and  transcendent  force,  which  we  call  LIFE. 

Life  can  not  be  put  upon  any  structure  from  the  out- 
side. You  can  not  take  a  cold  literary  product  after  it 
is  made,  and  say,  "Now  I  will  give  it  life."  If  the  work 
is  not  already  instinct  with  life,  in  vain  will  you  attempt 
to  vivify  it  by  piling  upon  its  cold  surface  resounding 
adjectives,  vigorous  phrases,  exquisite  similes,  and  meta- 
phors of  power.  The  essential  deadness  of  the  thing 
itself  will  wither  all  your  superimposed  accessories  of 
energy  and  vigor.  Still  more  hopeless  is  the  attempt, 
into  which  untrained  writers  are  often  betrayed,  to 
impart  a  semblance  of  life  by  typographical  devices  of 


italics,  capitals,  and  exclamation-points.  "Where  an  ex- 
clamation-point may  be  properly  used,  the  sentence 
would  exclaim  without  it.  Neither  can  you  make  an  or- 
ganism alive  by  vivifying  a  single  member.  Your  elec- 
tricity may  make  the  dead  frog's  leg  twitch,  but  the 
moment  you  shut  off  the  current  the  poor  batrachmn  is 
as  dead  as  before.  If  you  have  constructed  a  rhetorical 
masterpiece  without  the  glow  of  life,  you  can  not  rouse 
a  pulse  in  the  body  of  your  work  by  bursting  with  furi- 
ous intensity  into  your  conclusion. 

Life,  if  real,  must  pervade  an  entire  organism.  The 
life  of  the  tree  must  be  in  the  delicate  white  rootlets 
hidden  in  the  soil ;  it  must  stir  in  the  substance  of  the 
solid  wood  beneath  the  bark  of  trunk  and  branch  and 
bough;  and  must  flow  with  constant  current  from  cell 
to  cell  of  every  topmost  leaf.  Nothing  less  than  this  must 
be  the  ideal  of  every  one  who  would  worthily  speak  or 
write.  The  life  of  a  speech  or  a  writing  must  pervade 
it  all  from  beginning  to  end.  Any  sentence  or  any  word 
not  imbued  with  that  controlling  life  needs  to  be  stricken 
out.  Whatever  is  really  worth  speaking  or  writing  ful- 
fils Milton 's  description : 

"For  spirits  that  live  throughout, 
Vital  in  every  part,  .  .  . 
Can  not  but  by  annihilating  die."  * 

There  is  a  power  that  can  do  in  human  utterance  what 
is  so  grandly  wrought  in  all  nature  by  the  elemental 
forces.  It  is  the  power  of  the  living  interest  of  the 
speaker  or  writer  in  what  he  would  say  to  men.  If  that 
thought  is  worth  speaking  of  to  any  one,  if  it  is  worth 
writing  down  in  permanent  form,  it  should  interest  him- 


"Paradise  Lost,"  Bk.  vi,  1.  345. 


460  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

self.  If  it  does  not  interest  him,  how  can  he  expect 
it  shall  interest  any  one  else?  If  it  does  stir  his  mind 
and  heart,  his  interest  should  increase  from  beginning 
to  conclusion.  At  every  step  he  knows  more  about  his 
subject.  He  sees  more  of  its  connections  and  associa- 
tions. The  very  labor  he  has  bestowed  upon  it  gives  it 
value,  as  we  cherish  what  we  have  toiled  for.  His  only 
question  comes  to  be  how  he  can  make  others  appreciate 
the  beauty,  worth,  and  power  which  his  subject  has  come 
to  possess  for  him.  Not  a  word  or  sentence  must  fail 
to  carry  some  touch  of  that  moving  impulse  that  pos- 
sesses him.  All  will  have  the  thrill  of  that  comprehen- 
sive life. 

Life  may  pervade  the  briefest  utterance,  as  when 
Anthony  Wayne  said  to  his  soldiers,  mustering  for  the 
assault  on  Stony  Point, 

"Men,  if  I  fall,  step  over  me,  and  go  into  the  fort!" 

Then,  when  he  did  fall,  but  found  himself  still  alive, 
shouted, 

"Men,  take  me  up  and  carry  me  into  the  fort!  I 
will  die  at  the  head  of  my  column!" 

Life  may  pervade  the  most  extended  work,  as  the 
stately  and  sustained  march  of  Gibbon's  "Decline  and 
Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire, ' '  or  Burke 's  ' '  Impeachment 
of  Warren  Hastings,"  or  his  "Conciliation  with  the 
American  Colonies,"  or  Webster's  sustained  argument 
for  the  supremacy  and  perpetuity  of  the  Federal  Union, 
in  his  "Reply  to  Hayne,"  Lincoln's  Inaugurals, — the 
First  with  its  comprehensive  sweep  of  argument  and 
intent, — the  Second  with  its  prophetic  fervor  of  pur- 
pose nearing  fulfilment.  Life  appears  in  Coleridge's 
poem,  the  ' '  Ancient  Mariner, ' '  never  more  shudderingly 
alive  than  on  the  ship  of  the  dead ;  it  moves  in  Byron 's 
"Childe  Harold,"  without  unity  and  almost  without 


LIFE    THE    SUPREME    ACHIEVEMENT      461 

plan,  yet  never  without  some  deep  sympathy  with  human 
hardship,  sorrow,  or  misfortune  pulsing  through  all  its 
sad,  fierce,  or  melancholy  lines.  There  is  life  in  Ir- 
ving's  "Legend  of  Sleepy  Hollow,"  in  Mark  Twain's 
and  Bret  Harte's  extravagances,  and  in  everything  that 
on  any  side  or  in  any  form  has  taken  hold  upon  the 
lives  and  souls  of  men. 

This  does  not  mean  that  every  speech  should  be  a 
philippic,  every  poem  or  essay  a  vehement  outburst  of 
passion.  The  heat  of  white-hot  steel  is  not  less  intense 
than  that  of  blazing  and  crackling  twigs.  The  power 
of  the  sunshine  is  as  real  as  that  of  the  thunderstorm, 
and  far  more  beneficent.  A  quiet  speech  may  thrill  with 
an  intense  earnestness  that  will  move  every  heart.  A 
scientific  treatise  may  carry  in  every  sentence  the  im- 
press of  the  still  intensity  of  the  author's  devotion  to  his 
study.  Darwin's  "Origin  of  Species"  stirred  nations, 
and  can  still  be  read  with  interest  to-day,  as  we  follow 
the  great  thinker  through  his  patient  experiments,  every- 
where animated  by  his  earnest  purpose. 

There  may  be  parts  of  any  production  that  can  not  be 
made  vigorous  or  brilliant.  For  instance,  a  certain  ex- 
planation must  be  given.  You  can  not  make  it  seem  en- 
trancing or  exalting,  but  you  can  make  it  seem  germane 
to  the  subject.  That  is  an  element  of  interest.  You  can 
make  it  concise.  That  shows  that  you  are  eagerly  has- 
tening on  to  something  you  care  more  for.  There  enters 
the  interest  of  expectancy.  There  may  be  statistics  which 
it  is  essential  to  introduce,  and  statistics  will  kill  a  speech 
or  writing  if  anything  can.  But  one  interested  in  his 
subject  and  eager  for  its  effect  will  select  his  statistics. 
He  can  give  them  proportion  and  symmetry.  Then,  be- 
cause a  living  soul  has  assimilated  them,  the  dead  numer- 
als and  digits  become  alive,  as  the  inanimate  matter  of 


462  EXPRESSIVE    ENGLISH 

the  food  we  eat  braces  the  living  muscles,  throbs  in  the 
pulses,  gives  color  to  the  cheek  and  light  to  the  eye.  The 
author's  own  deep  interest  in  the  thought  he  would  pre- 
sent can  give  to  every  item  of  his  speech  or  writing  the 
pulse  of  life. 

Another  vital  element  is  his  interest  in  his  readers  or 
hearers — what  we  may  call  the  vision  of  the  audience. 
As  he  advances  in  his  work,  he  becomes  ever  increas- 
ingly near  to  them,  and  they  become  more  and  more  an 
invisible  but  manifest  and  expectant  presence.  The  more 
clearly  he  can  make  himself  aware  of  their  needs,  sym- 
pathize with  their  feelings,  views,  and  wishes,  care  to 
interest,  guide,  or  help  them,  the  better  will  be  his  prod- 
uct, as  it  answers  to  the  thrill  of  a  life  beyond  his  own. 

Such  interest  in  the  thought,  and  in  those  to  whom  he 
would  appeal  will,  if  genuine  and  earnest,  affect  every 
part  of  any  speech  or  writing.  It  will  be  anticipatory, 
seeking  from  the  outset  to  lead  those  addressed  on- 
ward to  the  perception  and  acceptance  of  the  author's 
thought.  It  will  be  pervading,  watching  at  every  mo- 
ment to  bring  out  the  thought  with  due  power  at  each 
stage  of  progress,  cutting  out  any  word,  sentence,  or 
paragraph,  however  attractive,  that  would  hinder  the 
one  great  movement,  filling  any  blank  where  the  hearer's 
or  reader's  interest  might  be  checked  or  chilled,  choosing 
so  far  as  possible  the  very  word  nobler,  more  forcible, 
more  gentle,  more  tender,  or  more  perspicuous  that  may 
best  convey  his  treasure  of  thought  to  the  minds  and 
souls  of  men.  It  will  be  cumulative,  that  which  has 
already  been  said  or  written  pressing  on  toward  the  con- 
clusion, as  an  ocean-wave  heaves  itself  shoreward. 

Where  a  theme  has  been  wisely  chosen,  a  plan  skilfully 
framed,  and  the  complete  expression  well  adapted  to 
theme  and  plan,  and  where  such  human  interest  thrills 


LIFE    THE    SUPREME    ACHIEVEMENT      463 

through  all  as  a  living  power,  the  work  so  produced,  if 
on  an  ordinary  subject  and  on  the  general  level  of 
thought,  will  be  attractive  and  useful;  or,  if  it  deals 
worthily  with  that  which  is  itself  grand  and  command- 
ing, such  a  work  may  take  its  place  among  the  master- 
pieces of  human  achievement,  and  exert  a  world-wide 
influence  parallel  with  the  march  of  time. 


THE  END 


Books  by  James  C.  Fernald 


English  Synonyms,  Antonyms, 
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